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•'SHOULD THE DAY EVEK ARRIVE MAT I BE THERE TO PAINT THE REAL WOMAN.” 

FrontispiecGy page 45 . 



DEVOTA 


''J'y suis, j'y reste^^ 


AUGUSTA EVANS WILSON 

Author of “St. Elmo,” 

“At the Mercy of Tiberius,” “A Speckled Bird,” etc. 


IliliUSTBATIONS BY 

STUART TRAVIS 


BIOGRAPHICAL REMINISCENCES 

BY 

T. C. DeLEON ^ 


NEW YORK 

G. W. DILLINGHAM CO. 








Copyright, 1907, by 
G. W. DILLINGHAM COMPANY 
Issued June^ 1Q07 

Copyright, 1913, by 

G. W. DILLINGHAM COMPANY 


TO MY BROTHER 


JOHN HOWARD EVANS 








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ILLUSTRATIONS 


Page 

“ Should the day ever arrive may I be there to 

paint the real woman ” Frontispiece 45 

suis, 'fy reste,^ He lives that historic motto !” 40 ^ 

An overwhelming sorrow seized and shook the lonely 


woman by the dial 80 

‘‘Roy — my own Roy” 122^ 



DEVOTA 


TELEGRAM, Madam. Tie 

messenger waits for an an- 
swer.” 

The butler held out a silver salver, 
and Mrs. Rexford Churchill laid aside 
her embroidery and took the ominous 
yellow envelope. 

Glancing over the contents, her face 
brightened. 

“No answer, Ramsay. Tell Hansel 
to take the dog-cart to the station in 
ample time to meet the 5.42 train, as 
Miss Lindsay is coming. The trap and 
victoria are in the hands of the fishing 
party who may be late returning home.” 

The hostess turned toward her com- 



14 


DEVOTA 


panion, an elderly woman whose white 
hair was partly covered by a lace cap. 

“ This is certainly a charming sur- 
prise, and will be as welcome to you and 
the Bishop as it is to me. 

‘‘ Listen, Mrs. Roscoe : 

“ ‘ I sail on Saturday. Decided sud- 
denly to run up for a night only to say 
good-bye. Expect me by 5.42 express. 
If bungalow is crowded put cot in 
nursery. Must return on 8.20 train 
to-morrow morning. 

‘Devota Lindsay.’ 

“When I planned this house party 
she promised to join us, but afterward 
wrote cancelling the engagement, which 
she said she could not keep because her 
uncle insisted on sailing abroad earlier 
than she had anticipated. Only three 
days ago I received farewell notes and 


DEVOTA 


15 


a box of souvenirs for my children who 
simply worship her.” 

“ Are you an old friend of Miss 
Lindsay? ” asked the Bishop’s wife, 
peering over the top of her gold-rimmed 
glasses. 

I made her acquaintance about three 
years ago — under circumstances that 
proved her an angel of mercy to me 
and mine. While in Switzerland, my 
husband was called home on urgent 
business, leaving us to follow him a 
few weeks later. Two days after we 
sailed, a frightful storm set in, and I 
and my elder children were so sea-sick 
we could not hold up our heads, even 
when my baby boy developed malig- 
nant diphtheria. His nurse deserted 
us, fellow passengers shunned us as if 
we were lepers, and only the steamer’s 


16 


DEVOTA 


surgeon ventured to assist in caring for 
the stricken child. Then Miss Lindsay, 
though a total stranger, came to the 
rescue — gave up her stateroom to my 
two children, Grace and Otto, whom 
she placed in charge of her maid, an ad- 
mirable woman of middle age, and, 
though we had never met before, Miss 
Lindsay shared my room and nursed 
my baby day and night. We were three 
days overdue, and when my husband 
met us at the pier, he carried the older 
children to their grandmother, but that 
dear, blessed girl, Devota Lindsay, 
went with me to the isolated ward of an 
infirmary, and remained until my poor 
little one was pronounced well. Do you 
wonder we have all lifted her to a pedes- 
tal as high as the court-house clock 
tower? ” 


DEVOTA 


17 


‘‘ Probably your great intimacy with 
Miss Lindsay enables you to fully un- 
derstand her character, which seems to 
most of us an enigma.” 

‘‘ My dear madam, an attempt at in- 
timacy with her would prove as satis- 
factory and responsive as a flirtation 
with the Sphinx. Dearly as I love, and 
warmly as I admire her, I should never 
presume to intrude on personal matters. 
Her beauty and gracious magnetism 
draw one very close, yet I am always 
conscious that some invisible bar is 
never let down, and that impalpable 
barrier hedges her from curious ques- 
tioning. She is the only woman I know 
who absolutely declines personal confi- 
dences, abhors gossip, and never talks 
about herself. One afternoon at a 
‘ reception,’ where a scandalous record 


18 


DEVOTA 


was severely criticised by an intimate 
associate of the indiscreet lady under 
fire, I heard Miss Lindsay say; ^ That 
shrewd cynic’s advice was wise, ‘‘ Live 
with your friends remembering they 
may one day be your enemies.” ’ 
She certainly accepts his rule of con- 
duct.” 

“ She has refused so many conspicu- 
ously eligible offers, that no one beheves 
she will ever marry, and it surely is re- 
grettable that her great fortune should 
not be consecrated to Christian philan- 
thropy. Dr. Bevan, her rector, dined 
with us recently, and he and the Bishop 
deplored her complete indifference to 
church work. Dr. Bevan said he had 
made her president of the ‘ Charity 
Guild,’ and when he called to urge upon 
her, acceptance of the responsible po- 


DEVOTA 


19 


sition that involved an individual in- 
vestigation of needy sufferers, she 
waved him off, exclaiming: ‘ Slum- 
ming! Please be so kind as to excuse 
me from that variety of church picnic, 
of Guild outing. Assess me as you 
think proper, or as the charity needs 
demand, but “ slumming ” includes 
draggled skirts, and soiled, defaced 
ideals; and no laundries exist for the 
purification and repairing of be- 
smirched ideals.’ She seems utterly 
incapable of any spiritual exaltation, 
and her rector assured us she paid 
promptly her church and charity dues 
just as perfunctorily as her real 
estate taxes, and her insurance poli- 
cies ” 

“ Dr. Sevan appears to have forgot- 
ten the costly new reredos she erected 


20 


DEVOTA 


for us in St. Luke’s,” interrupted Mrs. 
Churchill. 

“ Not at all, my dear, but he deplores 
the fact that she gave it with no more 
enthusiasm than she would have shown 
in ordering a new roof, or a plate glass 
front for one of her office buildings.” 

‘‘I fancy gushing enthusiasm in 
Miss Lindsay would surprise us quite 
as much as a lava flow on the Jungfrau. 
This is the era of sensational fads and 
whimsies, and of spectacular philan- 
thropic feats, but I believe my noble 
friend fondles no pet ‘ mission,’ has no 
fetich — ^unless it be the splendid pipe 
organ in her music room, or my own 
young barbarian Rex, whose life she 
saved by careful nursing.” 

“ Of course you know her family his- 
tory is rather peculiar.” 


DEVOTA 


21 


“ She has never referred to it, but 
social gossip always traces outlines as 
regards millionaires’ domestic laun- 
dries.” 

“ The facts are well known to a few 
persons. Hugh Lindsay, this woman’s 
father, was a remarkably handsome, 
dashing young man with barely money 
enough to pay his tailor and board bills, 
when a rich college chum carried him in 
his yacht to England. There he met 
Lady Shirley , who had been be- 

trothed by her father and mother to an 
elderly, gouty, widowed earl, with the 
expectation that a marriage settlement 
would enable her parents to reclaim a 
certain estate that was heavily encum- 
bered. The girl was young and head- 
strong, infatuated with Hugh Lindsay, 
and one day at Monte Carlo, while her 


22 


DEVOTA 


parents were in the casino, Lady Shir- 
ley met Lindsay, whose friend’s yacht 
was lying off Monaco, and she ran 
away with the impecimious, good-look- 
ing young athlete. An American 
clergyman went with them to the front 
of the Church of Ste. Devota, and mar- 
ried them there — while the J anuary fes- 
tival procession in honor of the saint 
thronged the church. That explains 
the singular misnomer of your friend’s 
baptismal label — ^Devota. The soul of 
the girl martyr, whose burial was dove 
conducted, was supposed to hover in 
benediction over the nuptial ceremony, 
hence the only child of this marriage 
was christened Devota. Ludicrously 
inappropriate for a character devoid of 
spirituality! Very naturally the bride’s 
family disowned so disobedient a child, 


DEVOTA 


23 


and the young couple soon confronted 
poverty. Lindsay went manfully to 
work as clerk in a law office, and they 
lived humbly and quietly for nearly 
two years, when lo! his brother Ormond 
died suddenly, leaving an enormous 
fortune in gold, silver and copper mines 
located in a western territory. Ormond 
was a bachelor, an adventurous pros- 
pector in regions where a great railroad 
was only partly finished, and as he left 
no other heirs his vast estate was divided 
between Hugh and another brother, 
Hollis Lindsay, giving millions to each. 
Then began social exploitation and 
‘yellow journal’ comments on ‘princely 
expenditures ’ for town and country 
houses, yachts, etc., etc., all kept up on 
lavish lines of strictly English methods. 
Mrs. Lindsay’s titled parents suddenly 


24 


DEVOTA 


remembered her existence, and made 
cordial overtures for a reconciliation, 
which were spurned by the resentful 
daughter who refused even an amicable 
correspondence. She was an extremely 
beautiful and haughty woman, but most 
devotedly attached to her handsome, 
loyal husband, and he never recovered 
from the shock of her death. They 
were returning from a ride, and on the 
stone drive-way near the front door, 
their only child Devota, about five years 
old, was romping with her dog. Sud- 
denly she darted from behind a clump 
of dense shrubbery, and as her white 
skirts fluttered, Mrs. Lindsay’s horse 
shied, reared and threw her to the 
ground, killing her instantly. Hugh 
Lindsay became a morose, morbid re- 
cluse, avoiding the sight of his poor, in- 


DEVOTA 


25 


nocent child whom he regarded as the 
cause of his wife’s tragic death. Three 
years later he died, leaving Devota to 
the guardianship of his brother Hollis, 
who at once shut up the houses, sold 
yacht, horses and hounds, and placed 
his niece in the hands of an old maid 
aunt, sister of his mother. She lived in 
a small town in a distant part of this 
State near the mountains. Devota was 
kept there in comparative seclusion, 
trained by governesses and tutors until 
she was about eighteen; then Hollis 
took her abroad, and as he has long been 
a globe - trotting ‘ scientist ’ — heaven 
save the mark! — the girl was dragged 
hither and yon among byways and jun- 
gles, and only God knows what heathen 
holes. Hollis Lindsay has no more reli- 
gion than the Java ‘"pithecanthropus” 


26 


DEVOTA 


he declares is the biological Adam, and 
which he accepts as his owm ancestor.” 

“ She is tenderly attached to her 
uncle, and, Mrs. Roscoe, I heard your 
husband say Hollis Lindsay ranked 
high as a scholar and scientist,” ven- 
tured Mrs. Churchill. 

“Yes, more’s the pity. Do you 
know what he has the elfrontery to 
assert as proof of his ‘ monism ’ sophis- 
tries? ” 

Mrs. Churchill bit her lip to restrain 
a laugh, and bent over her embroidery 
hoop. 

“No; and bless my poor ignorant 
soul, you must excuse me if I confess 
that I don’t much care; because we 
women never understand tiresome 
wrangles over fossil bugs, snakes and 
beasts that were kind and decent 


DEVOTA 


27 


enough to crawl into the earth and be- 
come extinct before they had a chance 
to worry us. The agreeable fact that 
appeals to my sympathy is that Mr. 
Lindsay is an extraordinarily hand- 
some man, a delightful talker, and 
most charming host.” 

‘‘As head of a Christian household, 
you will at least admit that it is part 
of your duty to guard the sanctity of 
Bible records. Hollis Lindsay de- 
clares Cain took for his wife ‘ a highly 
developed female animal,’ of course a 
beast; doubtless a monkey! Think of 
such a man as suitable to guide the 
training of a young woman! It is 
monstrous that atheism should prowl 
through the world, clothed in purple , 
and fine linen, panoplied with wealth 
and fashionable influence — and sowing 


28 


DEVOTA 


poison at every step. Heresy is just as 
contagious as smallpox — and vicious 
environment produces depravity.” 

“ But, Mrs. Roscoe, luckily there are 
exceptions. Sometimes it happens that 
‘breed is stronger than pasture.’ Romu- 
lus and Remus were baser than beasts 
if they had not dearly loved and toddled 
after their four-footed foster mother, 
yet no fable tells us they imbibed car- 
nivorous tastes or pranced around as 
weir wolves. Last winter I met an 
English gentleman in Washington who 
told me something I should like to 
verify. He admired Miss Lindsay im- 
mensely, but he censured severely her 
treatment of her grandmother in Lon- 
don. Mrs. Roscoe, do you know the 
circumstances? ” 

“ Yes, I have the facts from the wife 


DEVOTA 


29 


of our minister who presented Devota 
at Court. It appears that Lady Shir- 
ley’s mother saw your friend on that 
occasion, and so startling was the girl’s 
resemblance to her own lovely mother, 
that the dowager grandmother almost 
swooned at sight of her. Next day she 
wrote a most affectionate note implor- 
ing the young woman to come to her, 
and sent her carriage and maid to the 
hotel. The note w^as read and returned 
with this cruelly curt response : ‘ I am 
leaving London to-day. Permit me to 
say that the recognition withheld from 
my mother will never be accepted by 
her child.’ Can you imagine the im- 
placable, rancorous revenge that could 
so harshly reject overtures from an 
aged, white-haired grandmother? That 
girl has the wrought-iron will of Lady 


30 


DEVOTA 


Shirley. Not long ago Horace Bing- 
ham told my son that when it was re- 
ported a young English nobleman — 
lacking money to repair his Elizabethan 
manor house — was trying to marry 
Miss Lindsay, Horace asked her when 
she would wear the ancestral diamonds 
his lordship offered her, and she replied 
icily: ‘I do not buy my jewels from 
titled peddlers.’ There! I hear the 
Bishop coughing and he needs his loz- 
enges.” 

As the door closed behind Mrs. Ros- 
coe, her hostess laughed softly and 
murmured : 

“ Dear old, pre-sanctified cat! ” 

An exceedingly pretty woman, dow- 
ered with a kind and sunny nature, 
Mrs. Churchill was a devotedly tender 
wife and mother, loyally attached to her 


DEVOTA 


31 


church, and undeniably fond of her card 
club, opera box and gay house-parties 
— the latter an unusually attraetive fea- 
ture of summer sojourns at her villa, 
“ The Oleanders.” 

Two hours later in the day, she sat 
before the oval mirror of her dressing- 
room, watching the nimble fingers of 
the maid pile her black hair into a tow- 
ering pompadour, while Miss Lindsay 
leaned back in an easy chair close to the 
onyx toilet table. 

Behind the blue crest of a distant 
peak the sun had disappeared, but 
the vivid light of afterglow streamed 
through the open window framed in 
riotous clusters of reve dfor roses ; and 
beyond the eastern rock-bound shore 
line stretched a breeze-dimpled yellow 
sea, where sail boats swung like gigan- 


32 


DEVOTA 


tic white butterflies over a wind-swept 
field of jonquils. 

‘‘ Mrs. Churchill, where are the chil- 
dren? As I must leave after an early 
cup of coffee in the morning, I should 
like to see as much as possible of them 
this evening.” 

“ All gone to a dog show in the cal- 
lage, and afterwards to a birthday tea 
at the Whiteheads’. I tried to buy off 
Rex, and offered sundry bribes, as he is 
rather too young yet; but he is such a 
persistent, wilful little sinner, and be- 
sides, the governess, seconded by Grace 
and Otto, stood security for his good 
behavior at the tea-party. There, Anice 
— ^my head is sufficiently like the tower 
of Babel! Get things ready for Miss 
Lindsay and shake out her dinner 
gown.” 


DEVOTA 


33 


The maid fastened a diamond cres- 
cent in her mistress’s hair and withdrew. 

“ Now, why must you hurry aw^ay on 
that first train? ” 

“ Uncle Hollis wishes to read a paper 
on the opening day of a congress in 
Geneva, and any delay in our sailing 
day after to-morrow would cancel his 
engagement. So many matters remain 
unfinished I decided only at the last 
moment to run up for a night, and I 
very much doubt the wisdom of coming 
at all.” She rose, closed the door 
of the dressing-room and resumed her 
seat. 

‘‘ Miss Devota, how wonderfully well 
you look! Each year seems to add to 
your fresh loveliness and you appear 
younger than when I first saw you. 
Tell a needy friend how you manage to 


34 


DEVOTA 


placate wrinkling, sallowing, greying 
time? ’’ 

My health is perfect; my hair and 
teeth remain very loyal, and as I never 
insulted my complexion by any at- 
tempts to improve it, there seems no 
grievance for it to redress. With 
thanks for your friendly compliments 
let us dismiss my personality. Now, I 
owe you an explanation which your 
clock warns me must be brief. I am 
sure you will not doubt my sincere de- 
sire to see you all before going abroad 
— even when I tell you that a very dif- 
ferent motive compelled this visit. I 
came here especially to see Governor 
Armitage, who, I am told, is still your 
guest.” 

“ Yes, he remains with us until Satur- 
day; but you knew he would belong to 


DEVOTA 


35 


this house-party, for it was after I sent 
you a revised list of friends who had 
accepted, that you suddenly declined 
joining us.” 

“ At that time there existed no reason 
for any wish to meet him.” 

“ Is it possible you have never seen 
him?” 

“ I have seen him several times; once 
or twice at the opera he sat quite near 
my box — but I have not even a bowing 
acquaintance with him.” 

“ You have not been to the State 
Capitol? ” 

“Not during his incumbency. You 
know all the horrible conditions that 
surround our unfortunate friend Amy 
Clinton. The date of her husband’s 
execution is only five days distant, and 
every effort to delay it or secure a par- 


36 


DEVOTA 


don has failed. Poor Amy’s baby is 
critically ill, and old Mrs. Clinton is so 
prostrated since her unsuccessful jour- 
ney to the Governor, in her son’s be- 
half, that neither she nor the wife can 
make a farewell visit to the prison. 
This morning an urgent message over 
the telephone called me to the Clinton 
home, where I found Amy frantic with 
grief and dread. She showed me a tele- 
gram from her husband: ‘I have no 
hope. Chaplain says only one last 
chance; insists you send Devota Lind- 
say to Governor. She may save me. 
For God’s sake get her help.’ Can you 
imagine my painful perplexity? Ajny 
could not give any reason for the chap- 
lain’s belief — she said he was a new 
man in the prison work and she could 
not recall his name. I tried to convince 


DEVOTA 


37 


her it was utterly impossible that I 
could succeed where vastly more power- 
ful influences had repeatedly failed; 
but in her frenzied condition she lis- 
tened to no refusal. Knowing the hope- 
lessness of the attempt, I resisted all 
appeals until she lifted her gasping 
baby close to my face, and almost 
screamed : ‘ Can you die in peace if you 
refuse to try to save my darling’s father 
from the gallows? Will you see her in 
her coffin disgraced because you would 
not lift a finger? ’ So I am here, on a 
fool’s errand, confronting humiliating 
defeat.” 

Mrs. Churchill’s eyes were full of 
tears, and leaning forward she softly 
stroked Devota’s beautiful hands. 

“ Oh, my dear — what a frightful or- 
deal for you! I would encourage you 


38 


DEVOTA 


if I dared, but while the Governor is 
bland as May sunshine he is simply in- 
exorable when once he decides a matter. 
Feminine wiles and feminine wails 
make no more impression on him than 
summer dew on an iron-clad; and his 
cool, smiling way of shieing at every 
suggestion of marriage makes me ab- 
solutely sure that some pretty, vixenish 
kitten of a girl has clawed and frazzled 
his heart strings. How I wish I could 
help you ! Poor Amy — it is heart- 
breaking to think of her awful fate.” 

“ You can help me by manoeuvring 
to secure an opportunity for a brief 
presentation of Amy’s appeal.” 

Mrs. Churchill clasped and unclasped 
a jewelled serpent at her wrist, and her 
brows contracted. 


“ That could easily be accomplished 


DEVOTA 


39 


by his taking you in to dinner, but un- 
luckily I am handicapped by the Bish- 
op’s wife who arrived only this morning 
and has precedence. Oh, the eternal 
unfitness of ecclesiastical ingredients in 
secular pie ! ” 

‘‘ I am very glad he escorts Mrs. 
Roscoe, because I could not possibly 
broach my distressing business in the 
presence of a chattering dinner party, 
and I must obtain a private inter- 
view.” 

“ I have arranged to consign you dur- 
ing dinner, to the tender mercies of 
your avowed naval worshipper, Captain 
Winstead, who is spending the week 
with his mother, and comes to us for 
this evening. The Governor and his 
secretary have exclusive use of the li- 
brary, and sometimes they are shut up 


40 


DEVOTA 


there after dinner. We can watch his 
movements, and you must storm the 
citadel and expel Mr. Walton who lives 
at his typewriter.” 

On the paved driveway beneath the 
window sounded the beating of horses’ 
hoofs, and a man’s deep, mellow voice 
saying: 

“ I’m sorry I cannot yield to your 
wishes, and, my dear Churchill, you 
should remember that you once gave 
me an agate seal inscribed — ‘ Ty suiSj 
reste/ ” 

Devota shivered and rose. Mrs. 
Churchill caught her hand. 

“ Those two have just returned from 
their daily horseback ride, when, secure 
from eavesdroppers, they discuss State 
politics. Did you hear, ^ J*y suiSj j"y 
reste?/ He lives that historic motto! 



u « 


j'y suis, j'y reste.’ 


HE LIVES THAT HISTORIC MOTTO ! ” 


Page 40 . 









DEVOTA 


41 


My husband thinks him the noblest man 
on earth, despite the fact that as an 
attorney for various classes, Rexford 
prepares bills that the Governor some- 
times fights stubbornly, A great many 
years ago, before his political career 
began, when he was almost obscure, a 
horrid scandal was hatched against 
Royal Armitage, who it seems held 
some professional secret, and rather 
than betray the real sinner he kept si- 
lence, and endured disgrace until an 
unexpected death-bed confession fully 
cleared his character ; and since then the 
people in that part of the State have 
never been able to do enough for him. 
This is his second term. Now run away 
and get ready for battle. You must 
look your best to-night and have barely 
time to dress. By the by, speaking of 


42 


DEVOTA 


deadly battles, wait a minute. Do you 
mind telling me why and how you dared 
to cross swords with my august and 
formidable cousin, who has half the al- 
phabet in capital letters dangling like a 
kite’s ragged tail after her name. Pro- 
fessor Hannah Barbara Brown? ” 

Miss Lindsay had reached the door, 
but paused and looked back over her 
shoulder : 

“As president of her college she 
wished me to endow a chair of Philol- 
ogy and Etymology; and to convince 
me of the absolute necessity of ‘ broader 
lines ’ of culture in education of girls, 
she commented on the surprising ig- 
norance of some women who do not 
know that the abusive word ‘ virago ’ 
was a valued title of intellectual honor 
in the fifteenth century, and that its 


DEVOTA 


43 


twin horror ‘ termagant ’ originally 
designated a deity. In very respectful 
terms I declined her scheme, on the 
ground that the new dictatorship of big 
wigs in orthography — the prophets of 
revised language — would soon leave no 
etymon for students to hunt down; 
‘ fonetik refawm ’ would end that schol- 
arly game. I tried in vain to propitiate 
her by offering to provide a chair of 
‘ Household Economics, Sanitation and 
Decoration ’ ; but she deluged me with 
vitriolic sarcasm, and in closing the cor- 
respondence, I ventured to quote a 
crusty old critic: ‘ If ihe stockings are 
blue, the petticoat must be long.’ ” 


44 


DEVOTA 


CHAPTER II 



3HEN a master painter, crowned 
with international renown, had 
unsuccessfully attempted a 
portrait of Devota Lindsay, he turned 
the canvas head down with face to 
the wall, and vented his irrepressible 
chagrin. 

“ Miss Lindsay will pardon me for 
declining to waste any longer her pa- 
tience, and my time in finishing a pic- 
ture that can be merely a pretty mask. 
Despite its classic lines and exquisite 
coloring the locked face you show me, 
no more refiects your individual men- 
tality and emotional potentialities than 
some flawless alabaster mask. If you 


DEVOTA 


45 


will permit a frank analysis, I should 
say your habitual expression is that of 
complete, well-trained repose, imper- 
vious to shocks; and even your eyes — 
if windows of your soul — are deftly 
curtained with a radiant mist defying 
scrutiny. If you will excuse the argot 
of your own countrymen, should the 
day ever arrive when you ' let yourself 
go,’ may I be there to paint the real 
woman! I shall destroy this baffling 
work, retaining only the hand and arm, 
which you must grant me as some solace 
for defeat. The day is not distant when 
you will recognize your wrist and fingers 
in my ‘ Egeria ’ signalling Numa.” 

Mature womanhood very rarely pre- 
serves the fresh and dainty tints pecul- 
iar to girlish youth, and to-night as 
Miss Lindsay walked slowly down the 


46 


DEVOTA 


stairs, one might well have doubted the 
number of years that had rolled so ten- 
derly, leaving no credentials to line 
their passage. 

Her dinner dress of heliotrope chif- 
fon was cut square at the neck, gar- 
nished with filmy Mechlin, and around 
her throat she wore a broad collar com- 
posed of three rows of large fire opals, 
set in delicate Venetian network of gold 
wire, from the center of which hung a 
Maltese cross of diamonds. In her silk 
girdle was fastened a bunch of long- 
stemmed double white violets. The 
slender handle of her circular fan was 
studded with opals, and the disk glowed 
with its iridescent border of peacock 
feathers. 

Avoiding the main door of the long 
parlor whence came the hum and chat- 


DEVOTA 


47 


ter of many voices, she paused in an 
adjoining music-room, where a lace- 
curtained arch- way permitted a view of 
the assembled guests. Above the arch 
an electric light glared over her face 
and figure, enhancing the golden shim- 
mer of her hair, and the starry bril- 
liance of the long-lashed velvety hazel 
eyes. Cautiously lifting the outside 
edge of the drapery, she looked at the 
various groups, and her gaze fastened 
on one where the hostess, the Bishop’s 
wife, and Mrs. Van Allen — a gay young 
widow — clustered around the tall, ath- 
letic f orm of Governor Royal Armitage. 

At forty-three years of age he 
looked older; his massive, finely mod- 
elled head and very regular features 
justified the generally conceded epithet 
“ handsome ” ; yet in repose his face 


48 


DEVOTA 


was cold, and the sombre, dark grey 
eyes rarely changed their brooding, en 
garde expression, even when the well- 
cut lips parted in a smile that disclosed 
a superb set of teeth. 

Devota studied the countenance for 
a moment, and crushed back a half- 
uttered moan, while a tremor shook her ; 
then lifted the lace curtain and entered 
the drawing-room. 

“Ah, Miss Lindsay, how welcome 
you are after we had abandoned all 
hope of this pleasure! Following my 
example, our entire household wept 
over your failure to come sooner. My 
wife tells me you know everybody here 
except the Governor, and since you are 
strangers, I am glad it is my privilege 
to make you both my debtor by an in- 
troduction.” 


DEVOTA 


49 


Mr. Churchill drew her hand to his 
arm, and she bowed to right and left to 
guests, as the host led her forward. 
The Governor was bending over an 
engraving in Mrs. Roscoe’s hand, but 
suddenly drew himself erect and threw 
his head back proudly. 

Gov’ Armitage, I am exceedingly 
glad to present you to Miss Lindsay, 
our family mascot.” 

Both bowed impressively, and a deep, 
well-trained, manly voice answered: 

I assure you it is a pleasant surprise 
to find myself numbered among those 
so fortunate as to claim Miss Lindsay’s 
acquaintance.” 

The cold grey eyes looked steadily 
at Devota, but his face evinced no more 
pleasure than the granite gargoyle on 
the roof. 


50 


DEVOTA 


“ It is my privilege to remember that 
a great many years ago, when quite 
young, I met your Excellency, but cer- 
tainly I have no right to expect that 
after the long lapse of time any recog- 
nition could occur.” 

“You are very gracious to recall a 
casual incident of ‘ auld lang syne ’ 
that I dared not flatter myself you 
cared to remember; but that you have 
not entirely forgotten it is as unex- 
pected as it is complimentary.” 

The eyes of each probed deep, but 
neither flinched, and as Mrs. Churchill 
arched her brows and pinched her hus- 
band’s arm, Devota smiled, and turn- 
ing away held out her hand to Bishop 
Roscoe. 

“My dear Miss Lindsay, I am glad 
to have an opportunity to wish you 


DEVOTA 


51 


Godspeed on the long tour you con- 
template. When do you sail? ” 

“ At dawn, day after to-morrow.” 
Mrs. Churchill’s fan tapped the 
Bishop’s wrist. 

“ It is your duty to lecture her 
soundly on her descent into the Bohe- 
mian ranks of roaming ‘ bachelor girls,’ 
who, running after tinsel kites they call 
‘ careers,’ turn their backs on all home 
duties, forsake every form of genuine 
feminine domesticity, cast family ties 
to the winds and herd in tenements, 
boat-houses and mountain camps. Pro- 
fessional female tram.ps! ” 

“ I am very sure he will agree with 
me in thinking that Mrs. Churchill is 
cruel in smothering her innocent friend 
under an avalanche of opprobrious epi- 
thets. My sole " family tie ’ happens to 


52 


DEVOTA 


be Uncle Hollis, and I hold fast to him, 
though to do so necessitates surrender 
of ‘ home duties ’ in order to keep under 
his protecting wing. Not at all a 
" bachelor girl ’ if you please; but hav- 
ing recently bidden a reluctant and tear- 
ful adieu to my thirty-first birthday, I 
have deliberately selected a very differ- 
ent and more subdued type of serene 
old-maidhood — ^the effete and much- 
derided spinster of less degenerate 
days, a hundred years ago — who stud- 
ied Mrs. Chapone and Mrs. Opie, spent 
all tender affections on pugs, canaries 
and knitting needles, sternly confined 
hilarity within the prim boundary of the 
minuet, and revered chaperons almost 
as devoutly as the ‘ Apostles’ Creed.’ ” 
The announcement of dinner re- 
arranged the groups, and escorted by 


DEVOTA 


53 


Captain Winstead, Devota was seated 
at an unusually large circular table 
where sixteen persons found ample 
room. There were no candelabra so 
suggestive of childish “ peek-a-boo ” 
or the tinsel frippery of Christmas 
trees, and the colored tapers of juvenile 
birthday fetes; but from the ceiling a 
flood of light fell from clustered elec- 
tric globes upon glass, silver and the 
snowy damask cloth, wherein woven 
wreathes of orchids seemed to stand out 
as though embroidered in satin tissues. 
Neither tall vase nor bonbonniere im- 
peded view of the entire table, and in 
the center a long, low silver shell was 
filled with stephanotis and amber-edged 
Farleyense fronds, while in front of 
each guest lay a slender spray of 
daphne starred with bloom. 


54 


DEVOTA 


Mrs. Churchill sat between the Gov- 
ernor, assigned to Mrs. Roscoe, and the 
Bishop, whose next neighbor was the 
vivacious young widow Mrs. Van Al- 
len, a recent donor to his favorite 
church of an old and very costly silver 
sacrament service that Cellini was said 
to have embossed and engraved. 

Gradually the overture of general 
chatter diminished, and as conversation 
became dialogues between individual 
couples, Devota found it difficult to 
fix her attention upon Captain Win- 
stead’s remarks, to which her replies 
were brief and perfunctory. Notwith- 
standing her efforts to resist the im- 
pulse, her eyes turned often to the 
smiling face of the man immediately 
opposite her, and she was aware that 
he studiously avoided looking at her. 


DEVOTA 


55 


He was an amused listener during 
the progress of a spirited skirmish be- 
tween the hostess and Mrs. Roscoe on 
the subject of “ bridge,” which the lat- 
ter denounced as ‘‘ social gambling lep- 
rosy,” that was swiftly bringing the 
morals of Monte Carlo into family cir- 
cles, and all phases of club life. Ap- 
parently claiming victory in the argu- 
ment, the Bishop’s aggressive wife next 
opened fire on the Governor, because of 
his failure to approve a bill framed to 
secure a large appropriation for estab- 
dishment of an additional State re- 
formatory. 

“ It is hard to believe that you, sir, 
could turn a deaf ear to the cry for help 
that calls to you from the criminal out- 
cast children, whose salvation should be 
your dearest aim. An enemy of re- 


56 


BEVOTA 


formatories at the head of our State 
government is surely a mournful and 
disheartening spectacle.” 

“ Really, my dear madam, your in- 
dictment is so severe, you force me to 
plead ‘not guilty.’ For a thorough, 
efficacious reformatory system I am 
an earnest advocate, but my convictions 
relative to desirable methods and con- 
ditions may not meet your entire ap- 
proval. When I was vested with nec- 
essary authority I made an exhaustive 
inspection of all State penal and re- 
form institutions, and found an ample 
reformatory centrally located and well 
equipped along educational and indus- 
trial lines. Regarding it as a vital 
question, I have very carefully studied 
reports of various farms, schools, etc., 
from the days of Pourtales’ tragic 


DEVOTA 


57 


failure, and I trust you will pardon me 
if I frankly confess that statistics of 
juvenile criminology do not encourage 
me to increase the number of State re- 
formatories. The urgent need of re- 
form is too appalling to be ignored, but 
the facts at my command do not war- 
rant a belief that herding youthful 
offenders at State compoimds or simi- 
lar institutions accomplishes the desired 
result. A profoimd and noble student 
of mankind admonishes us : ‘ Children 
have more need of models than of 
critics.’ Of course incurable moral de- 
generates must be denied opportunity 
to prey upon their fellow-creatures, 
and for this sad class, provision for 
seclusion is sufficient; but the 'cry of 
the children ’ now ringing through 
our land is for parental guardianshij) 


58 


DEVOTA 


— for the return of domestic control. 
Madam, the best, the divinely ap- 
pointed reformatories are preventive 
as well as corrective, and God commis- 
sioned one in every parent to whom 
He intrusted an immortal soul for 
mental and moral training. No out- 
flow rises higher than its source; as are 
the family standards, usage and influ- 
ence, such inevitably must be the trend 
of the nation — the vast aggregation of 
those practically orphaned as regards 
parental authority and guardianship. 
We are all glad to remember distin- 
guished exceptions to prevailing condi- 
tions, but how little genuine home life 
remains to leaven the social masses? 
Do fathers and mothers fully realize 
that they have abdicated their throne 
on the hearthstone, now usurped by 


DEVOTA 


59 


servants and tutors, and that some day 
the souls of their neglected sons and 
daughters will be lost through their 
failure to exert proper care, and watch- 
ful guardianship? As I walk the streets 
of our cities the terrible truth becomes 
evident that parents have gone out after 
strange club-gods, and the pavements 
are the real nurseries of our boys 
and girls. America’s most urgent 
national need is the revival of home 
life.” 

“ In order to promote the system of 
reform you advocate in opposition to 
Mrs. Roscoe’s darling scheme, has it 
never occurred to you that it might be 
wise to establish in the Executive Man- 
sion a model household, for the imita- 
tion of our State where other experi- 
mental stations of various character 


60 


DEVOTA 


seem to be educational? ” asked Mrs. 
Van Allen. 

The Governor bowed and laughed as 
he replied : 

“ Your rosy suggestion is so alluring 
that my utter inability to adopt it fills 
me with poignant regret. Instead 
of spending the past ten or twelve 
years in trying to hypnotize some sweet 
woman into the belief that I was 
worthy of her trust, I have unwisely 
devoted my entire energies to other and 
far less charming pursuits, until con- 
firmed old bachelorship now absolutely 
bars the possibilty of any change. 
Rest assured no sour grapes mar my 
vineyard, and the hopelessly unattain- 
able is always invested with additional 
value. Knowing my defrauded bache- 
lorhood seems inevitably unalterable — 


DEVOTA 


61 


are you not needlessly cruel in dang- 
ling so tempting a pink sugar-plum 
beyond my grasp? ” 

“My dear child, don’t soil your pretty 
fingers by stoning the prophets!” said 
the Bishop, patting the bare, plump 
arm of his near neighbor. “ Armitage 
is right. He has diagnosed the social 
sarcoma that threatens our national 
vitals. Instead of purifying and ex- 
alting the moral code, the press, the 
politicians, even some of the clergy are 
ranting and howling Jeremiads over 
‘ cannibal trusts,’ and corrupt corpo- 
rate and individual fortunes, and lash- 
ing Congress, State legislatures and 
even the Judiciary to institute a cru- 
sade of covetousness, to rob the rich 
in order that labor may hold its hands 
in idleness and batten on plimder. An 


62 


DEVOTA 


American twentieth-century recrudes- 
cence of Jacquerie freebooters! Our 
youth must be trained in early years by 
parental precept and example to under- 
stand and to hold sacred the legal line 
of boundary between meum et tuum — 
and to obey God’s law, ‘ Thou shalt 
not covet — anything that is thy neigh- 
bor’s’; but will fathers and mothers 
perform a duty that may save this 
country from vicious wholesale spolia- 
tion? ” 

“ Good heavens — ^my Right Rever- 
end friend! ” exclaimed Mrs. Churchill, 
“ Have you no pity for fathers who 
must fly kites in stock exchange, and 
play poker at clubs, and bet on ball 
games? And where, oh, where, shall 
mothers find time for ‘bridge’ and golf, 
vaudeville and bargain counters ? ’ ’ 


DEVOTA 


63 


Bishop Roscoe shook a sprig of 
daphne at her smiling face, and looked 
gravely into her twinkling eyes. 

“ If, as a privileged guest, I have 
dared to violate conventional canons 
that govern ‘ table talk,’ by obtruding 
ethics which certainly do not contribute 
curry, horse-radish and Tabasco to the 
conversational menu, I claim in exten- 
uation of prandial heresy, the obvious 
fact that such charming people as sur- 
round me to-day are not always in 
their pews, to receive and assimilate the 
homiletic dose distributed once a week 
at the ecclesiastical dispensary. Please 
do not vote me a bore if ” 

‘‘ Just one moment of parenthesis, 
Bishop,” interrupted Mr. Churchill. 
“ Possess your soul in patience. This 
wild craze of greedy, omnivorous. 


64 


DEVOTA 


grudging ‘ Have Nots ’ is no new phase 
of that variety of original sin that 
claims something for nothing. Don’t 
forget how long it has been since Thur- 
iow’s snarl: ‘ Corporations have neither 
a soul to lose, nor a body to kick.’ 
Demagogues are persuading the dis- 
gruntled of all classes that they are 
now kicking the vile, corrupt body of 
corporations, but an inevitable reaction 
will be forced when it becomes evident 
that the kicks are aimed at the corner- 
stone of civic equity — the universal and 
inalienable right of every human being 
to the fruit of his labor, mental or 
manual — whether that fruit be divi- 
dends of the capitalists, or daily wages 
of miners, blacksmiths and plough- 
men. This popular creed of wholesale 
confiscation which teaches ‘ Love thy 


DEVOTA 


65 


neighbor’s goods more than thy soul,’ 
has reached its ultimatum in arrang- 
ing even pre-natal conditions whereby 
all children shall be born equal — not 
mentally, not morally; oh, no! simply 
financially, in consequence of abolish- 
ing the right of unlimited inheritance. 
Don’t worry. The wave is nearing its 
crest, and when it ebbs it will suck out 
as wreckage the political charlatans 
that hope to float into office.” 

Captain Winstead’s handsome black 
eyes sparkled mischievously. 

“Party politics are as unsuitable 
on this occasion as would be a shoot- 
ing jacket worn at a Court func- 
tion; but, Mrs. Churchill, I am sure 
you will forgive me if I dare ask one 
question: Is not your husband a Demo- 
crat? ” 


66 


DEVOTA 


“ Captain, your state of serene single 
blessedness is evidently the result of 
fright engendered by cartoon fables 
depicting the abject subjugation of 
husbands, by emancipated wives. Dis- 
miss that termagant scarecrow, for 
behold! my undaunted, conjugal Czar 
speaks for himself.” 

“ Am I a Democrat? You very well 
know I have always been one, and I 
am still clinging with grim, dogged 
fealty to the few precious fragments 
of genuinely orthodox democracy, that 
survive the blows of disloyal dema- 
gogic platform carpenters who raided 
recent national conventions. Ameri- 
cans of all parties need to remember 
that their first duty as citizens is alle- 
giance to individual convictions of the 
morality of public policies, instead of 


DEVOTA 


67 


the existing mischievous custom of ser- 
vile submission to the ukase of commit- 
tee and convention dictators. The time- 
honored party name, Democracy, is dis- 
graced by the effort to make it mother 
a mongrel brood of socialists, whose 
wild antics and schemes of universal 
confiscation would cause Thomas Jef- 
ferson to gasp. If he could only leave 
his grave long enough to make one 
speech, he would stamp out the clubs 
profaning his revered name, and 
scourge the ‘populistic’ leaders — now 
strutting under the standard of his 
stolen mantle — as Christ emptied the 
polluted temple. The spectacle of the 
so-called ‘ Democracy ’ of to-day would 
so sicken his wise, honest, sturdy soul 
that, I verily believe, a spiritual somer- 
sault would land him close to Metter- 


68 


BEVOTA 


nich’s axiom: ‘ All for^ not through, the 
people.’ The constitutional basic, and 
virile principles of my dear old Party 
will weather this dusty whirlwind of 
popular delusion, stirred up by raven* 
ing socialist wolves, cloaked in Jeffer- 
sonian fleeces; and primitive, genuine, 
untainted democracy must come to its 
own once more.” 

‘‘ Yoiu*s is a rosy view, Mr. Churchill, 
but who will undo the mischief accom- 
plished by American demagogues who 
are spurring the people into the pitch 
and sulphur pit of rank. Godless com- 
munism? What remedy will avail? 
Not schools, not colleges, not universi- 
ties where athletics, ‘higher criticism’ 
and ‘phonetic spelling’ absorb atten- 
tion to the exclusion of Christian ethics 
— now thrown aside as obsolete as the 


DEVOTA 


69 


Ptolemaic system of astronomy. The 
decadent tendency of our people to 
habitually seek excitement and diver- 
sion at pubhc places of amusement, has 
reduced the once attractive home to a 
mere economic residential combination 
of refectory, dormitory and station for 
laundry delivery. Interest in the out- 
side world usurps domestic attach- 
ments, loosens family ties and that in- 
terdependence of the members of the 
hearthstone circle, that once made 
genuine, old-fashioned home life so 
potent a factor in developing well- 
balanced, wholesome character, both 
individual and national. It seems to 
me the dear old ' Home, Sweet 
Home’ of other days is now sadly 
transformed into the nest of ennui 
and hysterical unrest, whence all must 


70 


DEVOTA 


flee who determine to ‘have a good 
time ’ ” 

The Bishop’s homily was cut short 
by a sharp cry in the hall, the patter of 
running steps, — and into the dining- 
room darted a red-haired child of six 
years, followed by a panting nurse, 
flushed and trembling, who held in one 
hand a discarded small slipper and silk 
sock. 

Tiptoeing on his bare foot, the boy 
glanced swiftly around the circle, and 
sped to the chair where Miss Lindsay 
sat. With a gurgling laugh he threw 
himself against her, and pushing her 
chair slightly away from the table, she 
put one arm around and drew him close 
to her. 

“ Rex, go back with Bertha,” said 
his mother, beckoning to the discom- 


DEVOTA 


71 


filed nurse who approached the table. 
Two little arms clung desperately, and 
the large blue eyes brimmed with tears, 
while a sweet, childish voice pleaded 
quaveringly : 

“ Oh, mamma. Miss ’Vota runs away 
before breakfast, and I must stay with 
her! I’m so afraid of that awful sea 
— and Jonah’s whale and the Devil’s 
fish — and slimy, pollywog, wriggling 
things that may catch her — and please, 
mamma darling, you know she’s just 
my very onliest sweetheart! ” 

Devota leaned forward, and with the 
assistance of Captain Winstead lifted 
the boy to her lap. 

“ Mrs. Churchill, please let me keep 
him. He comes in with the other 
sweets, and I beg for liim as my one 
special bonbon. Be gracious to me, 


72 


DEVOTA 


will you not? I stand sponsor for his 
being ‘iseen and not heard.’ ” 

Mrs. Churchill flushed, but instantly 
the Bishop raised his hand. 

“ Governor, veto that maternal sen- 
tence of banishment.” 

Governor Armitage smiled. 

“ This is the first time I have ever re- 
gretted the limitations of my veto pre- 
rogative, but in recognition of Rex’s 
indubitable taste in selection of his 
‘ onliest sweetheart,’ I ask the privilege 
of signing Miss Lindsay’s petition for 
retention of her loyal lover.” 

A tender light shone in his eloquent 
grey eyes, but they were fixed on the 
pretty boy’s ruddy locks, rather than 
the golden head bending against his 
long curls. 

Mrs. Churchill motioned to the nurse 


DEVOTA 


73 


to withdraw, and her lips twitched as 
she replied: 

“ Can your Excellency, and your 
Reverence, magnanimously ignore the 
vivid object lesson, so unexpectedly 
illustrative of your lectures on neg- 
lected parental discipline? My young 
rebel would certainly prefer your in- 
consistent leniency to my exacting do- 
mestic code. In honor of your pet 
theory — ^that, like other distinguished 
doctrinaires, you both decline to prac- 
tise — I must ask you all to drink a 
toast once offered by a cynical wit 
when dining at a table, which was simi- 
larly invaded by marauders from the 
host’s nursery. I propose to drink to 
‘ King Herod.’ ” 

She lifted her wine glass, but each 
guest laid a hand over theirs, and in 


74 


DEVOTA 


the midst of a chorus of protests the 
butler approached the Governor and 
held out a salver on which lay two 
telegrams. 

“If you please, sir, Mr. Walton says 
he thinks, sir, you must see these at 
once.” 

Pushing aside his untasted pink ice. 
Governor Armitage took the yellow en- 
velopes, rose, bowed to his hostess, and 
said: 

“ Pardon my unceremonious deser- 
tion.” 

As he walked away, Mr. Churchill 
called to him : 

“ Come back to us for coffee and 
cigars. We shall wait for you.” 

He shook his head. 

“Thank you; no. I will join you 
later.” 


DEVOTA 


75 


As the ladies withdrew to the draw- 
ing-room, Mrs. Churchill paused at the 
foot of the stairway, where the sullen 
nurse lingered. 

“ Go on, Bertha, and get Rex’s bath 
ready. Miss Lindsay will take him 
with her, as she ^vishes to see Grace and 
Otto.” 

Turning to Devota, whose arm en- 
circled the boy’s shoulder, she looked 
steadily at both. 

‘‘ Mrs. Churchill, you must do me the 
favor to set my fears at rest about Rex. 
Promise me he shall have no reason to 
regret that he proved himself my brave 
and loyal lover. Recollect I encour- 
aged his rebellion.” 

The mother twined over one finger 
a red silk curl, and shook her free hand 
warningly. 


76 


DEVOTA 


“You both deserve a sound, old- 
fashioned, hearty spanking, and I 
make no rash promises ; but as the pair 
of you seem equally culpable, I might 
be embarrassed in administering jus- 
tice. Good night, Rex. No, naughty 
boys cannot kiss their mothers. Don’t 
forget your prayers, you need them. 
Now, Miss Devota, do not let my 
pretty imps, my tawny cub triad keep 
you too long. Perhaps Providence is 
aiding your mission by calling the Gov- 
ernor to the library. Better watch his 
door from the side hall. Good luck to 
you, dear, when you beard the lion I ” 


DEVOTA 


77 


CHAPTER III 

PROMISE having been ex- 
acted that the “ triad ” should 
accompany her to the early 
railway train, Devota went swiftly 
down a rear staircase to the side cor- 
ridor running in front of the library. 
The door was open, and from the 
threshold she looked in. The room 
was well lighted; the typewriting ma- 
chine at rest, the desk covered with 
official documents, and from a file 
at one side a sheaf of telegrams 
rustled as the air surged through the 
window. The sole occupant of the 
apartment was the secretary, Mr. Wal- 




78 


DEVOTA 


ton, seated before a tray-laden table. 
He had dined, and was dallying with a 
gilded liqueur glass in which iced Char- 
treuse sparkled like splintered emeralds. 

Doubtless Governor Armitage was 
the centre of attraction in the dravdng- 
room, and the auspicious moment had 
passed beyond recall. A premonition 
of defeat impaired her self-control, 
and shrinking from observation, De- 
vota walked down the corridor to an 
arched door, whence a flight of steps 
led to the flower garden. 

Avoiding the stone terrace in front, 
where an electric globe shone, she 
turned into a winding path bordered on 
both sides with wheeled boxes filled with 
tall pink oleanders in profuse bloom. 
A mid-summer full moon lighted every 
corner of the sloping lawn, bringing 


DEVOTA 


79 


into velvety relief the shadow vignettes 
traced by leaf and vine across the 
smoothly clipped grass, and adding a 
silvery lustre to beds of lilies that lifted 
their white lips to drink from Herse’s 
cool, dripping palms. 

Among Mr. Churchill’s valued curios 
he numbered a quaint sun dial of black 
lava, fashioned ages ago in an ^gean 
isle riven by volcanic throes. 

The gnomon had been destroyed, and 
erosion by time and storm partly erased 
the Greek characters on the base, but 
doubtless some pagan Le Notre once 
deemed it an ornamental altar to the 
great sun god. A prosaic new gar- 
dener at ‘‘ The Oleanders ” found it 
more useful as a mere pedestal, where- 
on he had placed a terra cotta vase filled 
with luxuriant nasturtiums that wove 


80 


DEVOTA 


over the whole a fringe of scarlet and 
orange. 

Devota stood beside the dial, and si- 
lently wrestled with emotions habitu- 
ally held in bondage by an iron 
will. The night had grown very still; 
only a faint breath of air now and 
then pilfered and strewed the attar 
of oleanders and lilies, and from 
rock-ribbed shore rose the solemn, 
monotonous ocean hymn, the imme- 
morial recessional chanted by shattered 
waves. 

An overwhelming sorrow seized and 
shook the lonely woman standing by 
the dial. She threw up her arms, as if 
in mute appeal to some tragic fate, 
and her fingers gripped and wrung 
each other; then the clenched hands fell 
upon the crown and garlands of nas- 


an oveuwhelmtng sokkuw seized and shook the 


lonely woman by the dial. 

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DEVOTA 


81 


turtiums, and she closed her eyes to 
shut out torturing retrospective visions. 

The pungent smoke of a cigar sud- 
denly arrested her attention, and over 
the sward slowly walked the Governor. 
As he passed a drooping deodar he dis- 
appeared, but a moment later a great 
cluster of rose oleander smote his bared 
black head, and he stood inhaling its 
fragrance. His upturned face showed 
unusual pallor, and an expression of 
profound sadness that failed to soften 
its dominant sombre sternness. An 
audible sigh escaped him, and throwing 
away his cigar he moved forward to- 
ward the terrace. 

The sight of the graceful figure im- 
mediately in front of him was evidently 
an unpleasant surprise, and for an in- 


82 


DEVOTA 


stant he wavered, tempted to turn aside, 
then advanced. When quite near he 
bowed, and without pausing, wwld 
have passed her, but she stepped at 
once to meet him. 

Her voice was steadj^ though 
strained, and her words crisp and 
measured : 

“If Governor Armitage can grant 
me a few moments in which to lay before 
him a matter of importance to others, I 
shall be glad for reasons that he will 
readily understand are not personal.” 

“ If it is Miss Lindsay’s wish, my 
time and services are certainly at her 
command.” 

The moon shone full on both faces, 
and each had suddenly contracted and 
hardened. The Governor threw back 
his head and folded his arms behind 


DEVOTA 


83 


him; Devota’s right hand clutched the 
edge of the dial, and with her left she 
drew from beneath the violets in her 
girdle a slip of telegram paper. 

“ Having twice refused to become 
a member of JMrs. Churchill’s house- 
party for this week, I was much an- 
noyed, perplexed and pained when 
most unexpectedly I found myself re- 
luctantly obliged to come here for a 
few hours. In the midst of prepara- 
tions for my long absence, I was sum- 
moned to a grief -stricken family whose 
pitiable condition of abject misery and 
terror no verbal picture can exaggerate. 
My old friend, Mrs. Ronald Clinton, is 
prostrated by sickness and sorrow, and 
unable to leave the room where her baby 
girl is critically ill, probably dying; 
while in the same house the aged 


84 


DEVOTA 


mother-in-law raving with brain fever 
calls for the son who is sentenced to be 
hung next week. Neither his wife nor 
his mother can visit the distant -prison 
to say good-bye to the doomed man. 
In her despair, Amy Clinton, having 
exhausted all other means of saving 
her husband, has seized the fatuous be- 
lief that my prayer might possibly have 
some effect. It w^as in vain that I re- 
fused to come, assuring her that I was 
the very last person to send as envoy 
to your Excellency, who had declined 
her own appeal when she knelt at your 
feet. She persisted in her frantic 
pleadings because of an inexplicable 
telegram from Ronald Clinton, telling 
her the prison chaplain w^as sure I 
could secure help for him. On what 
grounds he based this preposterous ad- 


DEVOTA 


85 


vice Amy was absolutely ignorant, as 
neither of us can learn even the name 
of the chaplain. Knowing the futility 
of my mission, I yielded at last to her 
frenzied prayers — I drank the cup of 
bitter humiliation — and as my last sac- 
rifice on the altar of friendship for a 
broken-hearted wife and mother, I sur- 
rendered my self-respect, my womanly 
pride. Read this message to the wife, 
and then I feel assured you will realize 
what a terrible ordeal has finally forced 
me into your presence.” 

She held the telegram toward him, 
and taking the paper he read it care- 
fully more than once. Refolding it, he 
bowed and returned it, but the locked 
lips yielded no comment. She tore the 
slip into shreds, and her hands trembled 
as she asked: 


86 


DEVOTA 


“ Can your Excellency imagine why 
this mournful and mortifying task was 
laid on my unwilling shoulders, by the 
chaplain who is an utter stranger? ” 

He looked intently into her beautiful 
eyes, and his voice lowered to a key of 
icy sternness. 

“ If Miss Lindsay desires the name 
of the chaplain, I can gratify her wish. 
Peyton Knox has recently officiated in 
the prison chapel.” 

A hot wave crimsoned her cheeks, 
and she shrank as if from a blow, but 
as the color ebbed, she drew herself 
proudly to her full height. 

“ As any other total stranger claim- 
ing every citizen’s right of petition, I 
reluctantly intrude upon your leisure, 
and I appeal to you as a man, as a gen- 
tleman, as the highest official of my 


DEVOTA 


87 


State, to grant some mercy to a doomed 
criminal. For humanity’s sake — oh, 
Governor Armitage, for the sake of 
a ruined and helpless family, I ask — I 
beg — ^that you will pardon Ronald Clin- 
ton and save two women from insanity ! 
Be merciful; oh, be merciful, as every 
Governor can be if he so wills.” 

He watched her steadily, and once 
he drew a long, deep breath as if sorely 
oppressed; but her anxiously searching 
gaze discovered no relaxation. She 
suddenly leaned forward, and her ex- 
quisitely curved lips quivered: 

“You will not deny my prayer! 
You will pardon Ronald? ” 

Slowly he shook his head. 

“ Miss Lindsay, I shall never pardon 
him. At all costs I must be absolutely 
just.” 


DEVOTA 


S8 


“You will not spare his life? when 
your ofBce empowers you to set him 
free? You cruelly elect to order his 
wife widowed, and his babes dis- 
graced! ” 

“ Should I forget the widow and fa- 
therless little ones of Norman Hemtt 
whom Ronald Clinton dehberately and 
brutally murdered? The wTongs of the 
dead are too often buried with him, 
and sickly sympathy — posing as phil- 
anthropic Christian clemency — is lav- 
ished on branded Cains set free to defy 
human and divine law, and repeat 
crimes that should have forfeited their 
blackened hves.’’ 

“ Your Excellency’s standard of 
justice is more righteous than that of 
Abel’s God, Who instead of slaying 
his murderer granted him long life in 


DEVOTA 


89 


which to purify his guilty soul and 
mend his ways ! ” 

“ Disclaiming any approach to ir- 
reverence, permit me to remind you 
that the experiment of pardon was not 
repeated; and the severest penal code 
ever compiled came directly from the 
Divine lawgiver, whose chosen people 
demanded ‘ a life for a life.’ ” 

“ Hanging poor Amy’s husband 
could not compensate Mrs. Hewitt for 
the loss of hers. The exaction of blood 
tax is a legal survival of savagery. 
Justice is not the sole divine attribute 
— ^mercy is coordinate. Try to re- 
member that Talmudic prayer of Je- 
hovah: ‘ Be it my will that my mercy 
overpower my justice! ’ As Governor, 
the issue of life or death lies in the hol- 
low of your hand, and for the last time 


90 


DEVOTA 


I beg of you not to listen to the bar- 
barous prompting of a cruel revenge. 
Think of the awful responsibility of 
hurling an unprepared soul into eter- 
nity. Think of the blessed relief that 
only you can give to tortured, despair- 
ing human hearts who can look to no 
one but you for succor.” 

“ I have never pardoned a convicted 
criminal, and I never will. I cannot 
conscientiously exercise the ‘ guberna- 
torial prerogative ’ of riding rough- 
shod over the mature, deliberate ver- 
dict of twelve sane, dispassionate men 
empowered to sift all testimony, and 
carefully guard for their guidance only 
indubitable evidence. The sanctity of 
jury verdicts has been so frequently 
violated by reckless use of pardoning 
power, that the value of blood-bought 


DEVOTA 


91 


jury trial has dwindled into a mere 
mockery, an arena for spectacular pro- 
fessional jugglers. Ample legal ma- 
chinery has long been provided for the 
rehearing and unbiased review of all 
criminal cases, whenever new witnesses 
or new and vital facts cast any doubt 
on the wisdom or justice of judge and 
jury. Courts of appeal and review 
should have power to correct wTongs 
that juries sometimes inflict upon the 
innocent, but the preposterous assump- 
tion of infallible prescience and ‘ altru- 
istic clemency ’ by a President or a 
Governor is an ideal aspiration that I 
do not permit myself to indulge. This 
popular form of annulling jury ver- 
dicts is a fatal blow at the very founda- 
tion of penal jurisprudence; and the 
exasperating quibbles of subtle attor- 


92 


DEVOTA 


neys — the systematically delayed exe- 
cution of verdicts and the too frequent 
veto of death sentences — all contribute 
to the deplorable increase of lynching. 
Pardon my taxing your patience for 
this enumeration of my reasons for 
preferring to leave justice to compe- 
tent and unprejudiced comets.” 

She threw out one hand with a re- 
pellent gesture. 

‘‘ Capital punishment is merely re- 
vengeful, judicial murder, utterly fu- 
tile as a corrective method. Taking a 
second human life avails nothing as 
requital for the destruction of the first 
victim. It is indefensible cruelty in an 
age pluming itself on higher human- 
itarian standards.” 

“ Miss Lindsay, legal punitive stat- 
utes are not designed as retaliatory 


DEFOTA 


93 


sacrifices to revenge, but as deterrents 
to crime, simply because dread of 
speedy retribution is the most power- 
ful motive that can restrain the crim- 
inal masses. Maudlin sentimentality 
that just now inveighs against execu- 
tion of judicial penal decrees, is a dan- 
ger signal that points to public degen- 
eracy in a people who regard mawkish 
sympathy with culprits as an advanced 
phase of civilization; and to whom the 
condonation of crime is more humani- 
tarian than its extirpation.” 

His slowly uttered words rang with 
the measured precision of a sculptor’s 
chisel upon stone, and the inquisitorial 
eyes, no longer sombre, now glowed as 
they looked steadily into hers. For an 
instant a spasm of keen pain shivered 
the composure of her haughty face. 


94 


BEVOTA 


and her voice rose into a bitter, half- 
strangled cry: 

‘‘No mercy from you! I might as 
well pray to that growling sea yonder, 
watching hungrily for the next drown- 
ing wretch. I knew mine was a fool’s 
errand, yet pity conquered repugnance, 
and it seemed so incredible, so mon- 
strous that any man could coolly point 
to the gallows as sole answer to the 
heart-rending petition of an almost 
frantic family.” 

He pressed a hand over his brow, 
pushed back the thick, close-cut black 
hair, and after a moment he answered 
in an altered tone of profound and ten- 
der regret: 

“ My fellow monster, the sea, is 
spared after-pangs that are my por- 
tion. Do you imagine that any argu- 


DEVOTA 


95 


ment could avail to change my convic- 
tions of official duty, when in a fiery 
ordeal I felt compelled to deny the wail- 
ing wife who brought her pretty little 
ones to cry in their father’s behalf? 
Try to realize what must have been the 
feelings of a man not wholly petrified, 
when he lifted from his office floor 
the kneeling form of an aged, white- 
haired woman who could only gasp be- 
tween sobs: ‘As you hope for mercy 
when your naked soul fronts God on 
His judgment seat, spare my son’s 
life ! Remember the mother who cradled 
you in her arms — for her sake, for 
God’s sake, be merciful to me — save 
my boy from the gallows.’ Miss Lind- 
say, the terrible curse is that the wages 
of sin are paid too often to the helpless 
innocent. I could not pardon Ronald 


96 


DEVOTA 


Clinton, whose crime was deliberately 
planned murder, but learning of illness 
in his family, I sent a telegram at four 
o’clock to-day staying the execution of 
his sentence until restoration to health 
permits his mother and wife to spend 
a day with him in prison. Sometimes 
when I long for rest, the vision of those 
heart-broken women and two lovely 
children clinging to my knees, robs me 
of sleep.” 

“You spared him only long enough 
to say good-bye to those who, if pos- 
sible, would die to save him! Is that 
deemed a mercy — or refinement of 
cmelty? Your telegram was sent at 
four o’clock? If news of the reprieve 
had only arrived before I left my house, 
this needless journey would have been 
averted; I should have been spared this 


DEVOTA 


97 


keen humiliation on the eve of quitting 
a country I shall probably see no more.” 

From a silvered sea rose the metrical 
rippling of waves crooning a ‘‘ ber- 
ceuse ” to drowsy lands cradled by 
foam-laced surf. For a moment silence 
had followed the woman’s words, and 
in that brief pause Governor Armi- 
tage’s luminous, watchful eyes noted a 
swift and subtle change. The face 
w^hitened, hardened to its usual rigid 
coldness; all trace of emotion vanished 
as utterly as the light from an extin- 
guished lamp in some lovely transpar- 
ent globe, and the strained expression 
of her unflinching eyes gave place to 
one of baffling, inflexible quietude; the 
habitual mask temporarily loosened, 
was readjusted. 

When she spoke her clear, even tone 


98 


DEVOTA 


showed no hint of cadence that had 
sunk it to passionate protest. 

In ending an interview intolerably 
repugnant to my womanly instincts, 
permit me to say that, although con- 
spicuously futile as regards the sole 
object of this visit to Mrs. Churchill, 
I shall avail myself of the unexpected 
opportunity to offer you an apology 
for the grievous wrong of which I 
was once guilty. Simple justice de- 
mands this admission, and in addition 
I frankly express my pleasure in find- 
ing that my judgment was wholly er- 
roneous. I tender sincere congratula- 
tions that your vindication was so tri- 
umphant; and I bid your Excellency 
good-night.” 

As she turned away he threw out a 
detaining hand. 


DEVOTA 


99 


“ Understanding fully what such 
gracious words cost you, I value 
them correspondingly, and hope my 
thanks will be as acceptable as 
your apology. Will you pardon me 
if I venture to ask, if you 
had known that Peyton Knox was 
the chaplain who dictated the prison 
telegram, would your sympathy for 
poor Clinton’s family have suf- 
ficed to bring you into my pres- 
ence? ” 

“ Certainly not.” 

“You had regained sufficient faith 
in my integrity to believe that in mat- 
ters involving conscientious scruples, I 
should prove callous even to Miss Lind- 
say’s appeals ? ” 

The starry glint in his eyes bright- 
ened, and a bitter smile curled his lips. 


100 


BEVOTA 


She met his gaze with cool, proud calm- 
ness. 

“ The number of mangled offerings 
Governor Armitage has long laid be- 
fore the pet fetich he labels ‘Duty,’ 
allows no margin for any one to doubt 
that the sacrificial axe needs no whet- 
ting for the next victim on the official 
scaffold. That I was predestined to 
defeat I knew as well before I came as 
now, but the sanctity of one’s motive 
can sometimes nerve one to drain even 
a loathsome draught.” 

Only a few feet of sward separated 
them, and while she stood apparently 
as devoid of emotion as the sun dial, he 
knew from the quivering of the dia- 
monds in the cross, and the fiery flashes 
of the opals rising and falling at her 
throat that her heart throbbed fiercely. 


DEVOTA 


101 


“ Have you chanced to remember the 
day of the month, and that it is also 
the thirteenth annual anniversary? ” 

‘‘ Yes, the thirteenth. Barring all 
superstition, which of course you scout, 
how could this disagreeable meeting 
have failed to be unlucky? It is true 
I have passed my springtime, but de- 
crepitude has not yet attacked my mem- 
ory, and it warns me now that I have 
unduly trespassed on your Excellency’s 
time.” 

She bowed, stooped to gather up the 
train of heliotrope chiffon, and moved 
in the direction of the house, but he 
stepped before her. 

“ One moment. Miss Lindsay. May 
I ask why you refused to marry Hoyte 
Kingdon? ” 

“ Refused to marry him? Can you 


102 


DEVOTA 


think it possible any sane woman could 
be so hopelessly fatuous as to decline 
an offer of his hand, of his exalted po- 
sition? How incredible the suggestion 
that an opportunity of marriage so bril- 
liant would not have been seized with 
avidity, by even the most ambitious of 
husband hunters ! ” 

Hoyte told me of his persistent but 
unsuccessful effort to win your affec- 
tion.” 

A defiant gleam leaped into her eyes 
as she stood at bay, and in the brilliant 
moonlight the coil of opals around her 
lovely neck seemed a writhing serpent 
of flame. 

‘‘ Though women are satirized as un- 
worthy custodians of their suitor’s con- 
fidential proposals, it appears that 
manly friends have no compunction in 


DEVOTA 


103 


violating the seal of secrecy. Why did 
I fail to marry Hoyte Kingdon? Since 
yom* Excellency indulges such sympa- 
thetic solicitude in his behalf, it will 
comfort you to know that I sometimes 
share your wonder at my lack of wis- 
dom in ignoring a prize coveted by 
many others. I respected Hoyte, ad- 
mired his handsome personality, his 
very brilliant talent, his diplomatic ca- 
reer; and certainly the position he oc- 
cupied as ambassador at Court was 
alluring to my ambition and tempting 
in various aspects. I liked him im- 
mensely, and I wished very much to 
love him, but despite my heroic efforts 
I could not find him essential to my 
happiness. Is it not unfortunate that 
one cannot successfully whistle love to 
come, as one signals to a terrier or a 


104 


DEVOTA 


roaming canary? Since the days of 
poor Psyche elusive love plays hide-and^ 
seek in devious and baffling ways. 
Hoyte now has a beautiful and charm- 
ing wife who makes him supremely 
happy, and graces the conspicuous dip- 
lomatic circle in which he has attained 
the highest honors. We expect to spend 
Christmas with Hoyte and his wife 
after our return from Bangkok. I am 
sure his guardian angel was alert when 
he barred my heart against Ambassa- 
dor Kingdon’s magnetism.*’ 

Leaning forward, the Governor’s 
eyes seemed to search her soul, and his 
voice thrilled like a viol’s chord. 

‘‘ Did no tender, regretful memory 
hold fast the lock that refused to 
yield?” 

For an instant she put her hand upon 


DEVOTA 


105 


the jewelled collar to loosen some stric- 
ture that caught her throat, but her tone 
was firm, her eyes fixed on his. 

‘‘ Governor Armitage ought to know 
that women are not retrospective, that 
like other butterflies the present suffices, 
and we flee from ‘ regret ’ as the real 
vampire that robs us of bloom and 
is so detrimental to curves of beauty. 
We shrink froni dead years — spec- 
tre-peopled — as one shuns midnight 
prowls in a cemetery where graves 
may suddenly yawn over fleshless hor- 
rors.” 

‘‘ Across the chasm of thirteen years 
j^ou still prefer to make no signal of 
reconciliation? ” 

‘‘ Scourged by a sense of justice 
quite as keen as your own, I have apol- 
ogized for a great wrong you once suf- 


106 


BEVOTA 


fered at my hands. I owed you that 
acknowledgment, and now the debt is 
cancelled fully, and the ghost of that 
one regret is eternally at rest since I 
have the gratifying assurance that the 
harsh misjudgment of an impulsive 
girl had no power to spoil your life, 
or retard your eminently successful 
career.’’ 

‘‘ Failure in love affairs can ‘ spoil ’ 
no lives of those who maintain con- 
sciousness of moral rectitude, and a 
justifiable self-respect; but occasionally 
such keen disappointments prove be- 
neficent tonics in teaching a wise dis- 
crimination between sham and reality, 
shadow’ and substance. Sooner or later 
men and probably women learn that 
the only human tie that even death can- 
not dissolve, the one reliable chain that 


DEVOTA 


107 


no treacherous weak link can impair — 
is that binding the mother’s heart to 
her child. In desperately bitter trials 
mother-love is the strengthening angel 
that sustains, and when the world 
turned its back upon me, my blessed 
mother was my sole solace and de- 
fender.” 

“ Because knowing something of the 
truth she could not doubt. To her at 
least you had given facts withheld even 
from ” 

Pardon me. She was as absolutely 
ignorant as you, as all others who ac- 
cused me. When that whirlwind of 
slander overwhelmed me I told her 
only what I made known to the woman 
who was my betrothed. When with 
tears streaming over her face she took 
me in her arms and asked: ‘My boy. 


108 


DEVOTA 


are you guilty? ’ I could say only that 
I was entirely innocent, but bound by 
a solemn oath never to betray facts 
committed to me under seal of profes- 
sional confidence; facts that involved 
two broken-hearted women and a noble 
old man, my friend in fatherless, needy 
boyhood whom I had sworn to shield 
from disgrace and ruin. My mother 
lifted my face, looked steadily into my 
eyes and raised one hand: ‘My son, 
you swear to me on your honor as a 
gentleman, on the honor of my boy 
Royal, that this is true — ^that you would 
be a traitor to divulge the facts proving 
your innocence? ’ She kissed me when 
that oath passed my lips, and from that 
hour she abstained from all question- 
ing ; she clung tenderly to me, believing 
in my innocence as she believed in the 


DEVOTA 


109 


existence of her God. You had the 
same assurance, all that I could honor- 
ably give. Mother-love held through 
all assaults, no link gave way;— but 
yours? The chain snapped at the first 
taut strain — crumbled like sand.’’ 

She had grown very white, and un- 
consciously her fingers lifted the quiv- 
ering fiery stones that bound her throb- 
bing throat. 

“ Let the ashes of long dead injuries 
rest over all that once disquieted you. 
If you had only trusted me I' should 
have held the secret inviolate even to the 
gates of death.” 

The shameful secret was not mine 
to divulge. ‘ Trusted you? ’ I trusted 
you to trust the honor of the man you 
had promised to make your husband. 
When on my knees I swore to you that 


110 


DEVOTA 


my innocence, temporarily discredited, 
must inevitably be established some day 
by those for whose sins I was branded, 
do you recollect quite all you gave me 
in return? ♦That thirteenth of July 
you hurled my ring at my feet, de- 
nounced me as a despicable hypocrite — 
as a leper unfit to defile your presence ; 
you denied me even the right of ac- 
quaintanceship, vehemently forbade the 
privilege of recognizing you by word 
or sign. Even then I partly forgave 
your frantic, passionately bitter accusa- 
tion, because I realized how revolting 
to your pure, womanly instincts was 
the grievous slander. You cast me out 
of your life as a disgraced villain who 
had forfeited all right to associate with 
gentlemen. No alternative was mine; 
I submitted to your cruel edict. Very 


DEVOTA 


111 


soon the pall that seemed to blot out 
all hope for me, was suddenly and 
strangely lifted by that tragic death- 
bed revelation which cleared me of all 
blame, and left no shadow to sully my 
name. I stepped back to the plane of 
honorable manhood. Since the day of 
that complete vindication, twelve long 
years have passed. I waited, not pa- 
tiently, but I waited watching for some 
message, some signal from the woman 
who had promised to become my wife, 
and who owed me a renewal of confi- 
dence. Knowing me innocent you have 
elected to keep me under ban.” 

The concentrated bitterness of his 
deliberately uttered indictment, and the 
merciless searchlight in his eyes had no 
power to shiver the pallid rigidity of 
the face proudly uplifted. 


112 


DEVOTA 


“ Having forfeited all claim to your 
kind or friendly remembrance, how 
could you, who know my nature, expect 
me to invite intolerable humiliation 
from your rejection of any overture 
I offered that involved confession of 
wrong? I had no right to assume that 
a message from me would be acceptable, 
and as far as I knew, your life w^as so 
serene and satisfying that any echo 
thirteen years old would prove only an 
intrusive discord. Our alienation was 
complete and you carefully shunned 
any opportunity to end it.” 

“ Had you allowed me the liberty of 
approach? I obeyed your command, I 
followed the line you dictated, I rigidly 
refrained from word or letter and I 
accorded you the silence you demanded. 
My mother urged me to venture some 




“rot — MY OWN ROY 


112 . 






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DEVOTA 


113 


overture for reconciliation, and just be- 
fore her death I found a letter she had 
addressed to you in my behalf. Self- 
respect forced me to expostulate, and 
at her bedside I burned that letter. At 
least I am entitled to your thanks that 
in no degree have I attempted to invade 
the territory, from which I was so ig- 
nominiously ejected.” 

“ In saying good-night, and also an 
eternal good-bye, I beg your Excel- 
lency’s acceptance of my thorough ap- 
preciation of, and thanks for your 
courteous and consistent compliance 
with my wishes.” 

She turned away quickly, but his 
hand fell upon her shoulder. 

“ Devota ! Devota ! ” 

“ Governor Armitage exceeds even 
his official rights, and usurps a priv- 


114 


DEFOTA 


ilege I grant no man. Do not touch 
me.” 

He shook her gently as one might a 
wayward child, and her haughty repose 
could no longer defjT' the tender, glow- 
ing eyes so close to her own. 

“ How much longer do you intend 
to impale us both on the iron cross of 
your cruel, despotic pride? Since the 
responsibility for our meeting here is 
yours, not mine, I will speak at last, 
and you shall listen. For a time, after 
you forsook me, I bore up bravely, sus- 
tained by the belief that my banishment 
was temporary, because I felt assured 
that vindication, though tardy, was in- 
evitable. Sooner than I dared to hope 
that woful tragedy removed all sus- 
picion from me, lifted me back at once 
to the position of which my slanderers 


DEVOTA 


115 


had robbed me, and I exulted in the 
anticipation of our speedy reunion; 
watched the hour of every mail deliv- 
ery. After you went abroad the second 
time I realized that my doom was per- 
manent, that your proud obstinacy, 
would prevent you from ever lifting a 
finger to recall me, and then I grew 
desperately bitter. About six years ago 
I was tempted to find some relief by 
a change of conditions that were re- 
ducing me to callous cynicism. I set 
to work diligently to cultivate an af- 
fection for a very lovely woman I 
thought it possible I might win by per- 
sistent devotion. I longed to forget, 
to supplant you, to cast you out of my 
life as completely as you had exiled me; 
but despite all efforts when I tried to 
picture her as mistress of my home, as 


116 


DEVOTA 


sharing my name, my heart revolted. 
Your haunting face rose before me, 
your dear, beautiful hands seemed to 
steal into mine as in the days when they 
belonged to me. I abandoned such 
futile struggles and accepted the lonely 
lot that could not be averted. So long 
as you remained Miss Lindsay I had 
the right to recall all that was so pre- 
cious thirteen years ago. Then came 
the supreme trial; it was the general 
opinion of your social world that King- 
don had won his suit, and that the day 
of his marriage was not distant. I 
knew he was worthy, was the most ad- 
mired and envied man in our State, and 
it seemed incredible you should not ac- 
cept the glittering future he offered. 
You cannot realize the maddening tor- 
ture that seizes a man, when he thinks 


DEVOTA 


117 


that the one woman in all the world 
who holds his heart in the hollow of her 
hand will be clasped in the arms of an- 
other entitled to call her his wife! So 
keen was my suffering that I think the 
damned would not have changed places 
with me. Then Kingdon suddenly al- 
tered the date of sailing, and in bidding 
me good-bye told me you had twice re- 
jected him. Business had called me to 
your city, and after his farewell visit 
that night I could not bear the noise 
and bustle of the hotel. I walked about 
the parks and up and down the streets, 
and though the sleet was falling I wan- 
dered to the avenue where your great 
stone house towers above all others. 
Standing on the pavement in front I 
listened to the city clock clanging two 
A.M. A light shone from an upper 


118 


DEVOTA 


window; elsewhere all was dark. Only 
granite walls shut me from sight of one 
whose precious lips had felt the touch 
of mine. As I stood in the pelting 
sleet, over the silence of the night I 
heard a sound that seemed to come 
from the opening heavens. An organ 
roll thrilling that ‘ Adagio ’ no fingers 
but yours had ever adequately inter- 
preted to me. Our Adagio — yours and 
mine — sanctified by blessed associations 
with the hallowed days of our betrothal. 
As I listened, the dreary lost years 
rolled away as a black curtain, and in 
the limelight of memory I saw again 
all our surroundings on that last happy 
evening when you played for me; the 
misty purple of mountain heights, the 
ferny gorges where scarlet rhododen- 
drons flared their torches, the cluster- 


DEVOTA 


119 


ing honeysuckle whose chalices swung 
in the breeze, and you — ^my promised 
bride — seated at the piano, the sunset 
glow burnishing your hair, your white 
dress and floating blue ribbons. I 
knew your touch; the passionately ten- 
der, closing chords drifted like a whis- 
per from our past, like an answer from 
your soul to the call of mine, and it 
told me why Kingdon could never 
claim you. Ah ! tears gathered, dripped ; 
happy tears. I knew then you could 
not forget, and since that night I have 
found grim comfort in the belief that 
only your inexorable, merciless pride 
stood between us. Sweetheart of my 
young manhood, darling of my lonely, 
weary old heart, will you crucify us 
both until death ends all? ” 

She had withdrawn from his detain- 


120 


DEVOTA 


ing hand, shrinking back to the support 
of the dial, but the surging torrent of 
his words stirred frozen depths never 
before beyond control. Tears glittered 
in her eyes, and her lips fluttered like 
wind-swept rose leaves. 

You believe my pride separates us 
now? No, no; not pride. Can’t you 
imderstand that my bitter humiliation 
is the barrier that shuts me out? The 
lofty distinction you have attained is 
the dividing wall I could never scale. 
In the dark days of calumny I forsook 
you; when most you needed loyalty I 
refused to share your disgrace. Now, 
as the popular idol, at whose feet the 
noblest public tributes are laid, you 
must accept my confession that I am 
not worthy to share your honors. I 
was weighed in the balance and found 


DEVOTA 


121 


wofully wanting. The verdict of the 
scales thirteen years ago cannot be re- 
versed by an eternity of regrets.” 

“Hush, hush! we biu*y the past. 
Twice at the polls the people gave me 
their confidence, and gratefully I hold 
the solemn responsibility as a precious 
trust to be sacredly guarded, but public 
applause is starving diet to a hungry 
heart. My darling, between you and 
me remains no question of confession 
or absolution, and to-night blots out 
those terribly bitter years. It is my 
right to readjust the balance; in one 
scale I lay all civic honors, the other 
holds my life-long Sweetheart out- 
weighing every other earthly treasure. 
I ask at your hands the one blessing 
lacking in my career. Give me, oh, 
give me at last the only real crown 


122 


DEVOTA 


that can glorify a man’s life — the ten- 
der love of a faithful, pure wife! I 
will no longer be denied.” 

He stepped closer, took her cold, 
quivering hands in his warm palms, and 
she hid her face against his arm. 

“ You have suffered from my fran- 
tic accusations on that dreadful July 
day, but you will never understand the 
intolerable bitterness of my punish- 
ment, scourged all these dreary, mourn- 
ful years by keen, torturing self-re- 
proach. Roy — my own Roy — I am not 
worthy, but the world is empty and 
desolate for me without the one love of 
my life.” 


BIOGRAPHICAL REMINISCENCES 
OF AUGUSTA EVANS WILSON 

BY 


T. C. De LEON 










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BIOGRAPHICAL REMINIS- 
CENCES 9F AUGUSTA 
EVANS WILSON * 


twm 


|ERE I asked to name the most 
remarkable woman of the cen- 
tury just passed, my answer 
would be that name better known every- 
where that the English language is 
spoken or read than that of any other 
American, or probably any other wom- 
an whatever. 

And I should make the statement, 
not from impulse, not from personal 
friendship of near a lifetime’s duration, 
still less from any sectional prejudice 
veering toward her Southern birth, nur- 
ture and voluntary residence. 

* Copyright, 1913, by G. W. Dillingham Company. 

125 


126 


BIOGRAPHICAL 


I should make it because I believe it 
absolutely true; and because it is as 
clearly proved and provable as it is 
true. 

The quality and the merits, or the 
demerits, of Augusta Evans’ books and 
other writings have no concern in this 
statement ; and need not in any manner 
enter into its making. That better ro- 
mances, critically considered, have been 
written by other women — and men — I 
shall neither affirm nor deny. I merely 
state the one fact. 

But wffiat does touch — and, I think, 
proves my opening statement is the fact 
which is authentic, and often proved by 
the book-trade, that the books of this 
remarkable woman sell to the Eng- 
lish reading public in larger num- 
bers than those of any other writer 


REMINISCENCES 127 


— and have done so — for a long series 
of 3 ^ears. 

Another equally great and wide- 
spread error about Augusta Evans is 
probably derived from the general pub- 
lications concerning her in the rather 
jaundiced class of newspapers and 
cheap periodicals, that she was of stilted 
demeanor and was a wholly abnormal 
personage, crammed to overflowing 
with strange and equally tattered lore. 
Her very abnormality, exaggerated as 
it was in the retelling, was like what 
Shakespeare tells us of vanity : it made 
the meat it fed upon and came, wher- 
ever it appeared in her public style of 
speech, from the best of attributes, that 
made her works at all possible of length- 
ened existence — ^her desire for learning 
and natural or mental and moral ac- 


128 BIOGRAPHICAL 


quisitions. She ever led a lonely men- 
tal life, somewhat apart even from the 
chosen friends and intimates with whom 
she drew her daily and home inter- 
course — her close personal acquaint- 
ances. But, in reality, she was to those 
who knew her really and truly a natural 
growth in mentality. 

She was from her childhood one of 
the closest students of books and not of 
people that I ever chanced to know. 
She was born in the library and she 
grew up in it. I happened to know 
her in her younger and more crude days, 
if she ever had such, and she was the 
same warm-hearted and lovable person, 
when the end of her long and busy life 
of study came, that I had first known 
when I had been forced to love and to 
admire the great and real goodness that 


REMINISCENCES 


129 . 


dwelt more deeply in her than in the 
ordinary person. 

But let me come back from mere as- 
sertion and adduce hard-pan proof in 
place of mere logic of cause and effect. 
And I believe I can call upon the en- 
tire American world to bear testimony 
to a well known man’s statement. 
When George W. Carleton was mak- 
ing his well-remembered trip around 
the world in 1870 he wrote with his own 
hand an open international post card to 
the then Mrs. Wilson. I have seen 
(and read) that card many times, and 
it is still extant and can be produced. 
Carleton had nothing to gain by exag- 
geration. He had retired from trade 
and was simply stating an odd fact. He 
wrote that, on the morning of mailing, 
he was in India and walked to see a 


130 BIOGRAPHICAL 


famous ruin. There in the burning 
Oriental sun, amid the massive stones 
fallen from what once was the temple 
of the Taj Mahal, and as oblivious of 
the skulking wild beasts about him as 
of the step of the curious American ap- 
proaching him, lay a Parsee bo}^ with 
his chin on his hands, reading what 
seemed to be an American book. (It 
was a well-thumbed copy of “ Beulah,” 
published by Derby.) 

I have been somewhat of a traveler 
myself in the less wild jungles of the 
Occidental book trade ; and often in mo- 
ments of enforced waiting for the train 
I have asked proprietors, “What is 
your best selling book? ” Almost in- 
variably, if slightly varied in locality, 
the reply received at Denver would be 
repeated: “ Well, books as is books — 


REMINISCENCES 131 


bound books, in the long run ther’s 
none that equals ’Gusta Evans’s! ” 
Only in very recent years, sauntering 
down, I met a young Mobilian who had 
located in the Big Town, and plainly 
had prospered, to judge by his dress 
and well-groomed ensemble. He was 
glad to meet a man from home, and me 
of all others. He said Christmas was 
coming and he wanted to send a remin- 
der to “ the girl he left behind him.” 
We were opposite a very well known 
book place, and he suggested an inter- 
view. We entered, and I let him do the 
talking; the first thing he asked was 
frank advice of the “boss,” who hap- 
pened to wait on us. “ For a lady,” the 
man of fine dress said glibly, “why, my 
dear sir, there’s no doubt at all about it 
if the lady wants really to read. Au- 


132 


BIOGRAPHICAL 


gusta Evans is the writer that all 
women love and never tire of. Several 
books, you say. Oh ! that makes no dif- 
ference, we sell them at $2.00 a volume, 
and they do not get old enough to get 
dusty!” 

The package was paid for, and while 
the address was being verified I ven- 
tured mildly: “Do you sell many of 
De Leon’s books? ” 

“ Um, not to say many. One oc- 
casionally. He comes from her town, 
don’t he? ” I meekly replied that I 
thought he did : and later the home nov- 
elist and I laughed about “ her town.” 

These are random straws, tickling 
memor}^ as I write: but they show in 
some sort how the wind of popularity 
still blows. 

What is the basic reason for this? It 


REMINISCENCES 


133 


is not deep to delve for, to the thinker^ 
who has but to pause to pick it up, 
ready to his hand. 

The reason for the popularity of 
Mrs. Wilson’s books is not far to find, 
and is easy of understanding. I note as 
simple, but wonderful truth, the ever- 
present individuality that impresses it- 
self upon every reader who takes the 
trouble to study any single page of any 
one of her books, new or old. 

She never wrote one word in all the 
many she penned that the purest woman 
might fear to have her pure young 
daughter read and misunderstand. She 
ever wrote as she felt, and she never, I 
verily believe, allowed one impure idea 
to remain with her long enough for its 
penning. 

This is why her swift critics, writing 


134 


BIOGRAPHICAL 


for the soiled mentality of her severest 
detractors, have said her characters 
were “ dull ” and lacked “ action.” 
Certainly they were dull to the sur- 
feited readers of the dime-novel school. 
That is to their credit that these some- 
times “ lay-figures ” never used their 
strength upon the speaking of guarded 
vulgarity or the doing of lewd actions. 
Hers were not the hectic and impossibly 
muscled gods of musk-scented Olym- 
pus. They were not the daily meets in 
what we misname “ society,” and she 
never went into that society to find them 
out of it. Her novels were not pic- 
tures of the ballroom, the boudoir, nor 
yet snapshots from fashion caught over 
a transom. 

If her men seem unnatural in com- 
parison with the close nude character 


REMINISCENCES 135 


photographs of the once flourishing 
weed-garden of society fiction it was be- 
cause in the fast set there existed a too 
lax communication between the sexes; 
too much hot pepper of thought for the 
mind in the seasoning of its regular 
meals. No man and no brainy woman 
who has studied the result of such a 
history has failed to find dyspeptics, 
even hectics, in all its intercourse of the 
sexes. 

Is the Gretchen of Goethe a lay fig- 
ure? She loved and suffered and died 
because she did not know evil: but do 
the world’s mothers of to-day deliber- 
ately teach their daughters evil or 
preach it to them that they may avoid 
it? 

Doubtless all the girls are Gretchens 
in their utter freedom from any practi- 


136 BIOGRAPHICAV 


cal contact with impropriety, or their 
long non-intercourse with its cause and 
effect. 

But without that dangerous knowl- 
edge these young women of Mrs. Wil- 
son's books are more attractive to the 
average good (not goody) young girl, 
even with their abnormal correctness of 
speech and deportment, than is the 
Gretchen of Goethe or the Barbara 
Dearing of the Princess Troubetzkoy. 
And they are drawn from a sj^mpa- 
thetic knowledge of men or of women, 
as natural and healthy minded young 
persons, rather than from that phase so 
titillating to palates, grown fond of 
pepper while too young to assimilate it 
safely. 

But this is diversion from the straight 
path I voluntarily blazed out — ^the plain 


REMINISCENCES 137 


statement of not familiar facts — into 
the intricate tangle of isms, 

Augusta Jane Evans was born at Co- 
lumbus, Ga., on the 8th of May, 1834, 
and died on the morning of May 9, 
1909, the day after her 74th birthday. 
She had passed the previous afternoon 
in Magnolia Cemetery, in Mobile, 
wherein her dearly loved brother. Cap- 
tain Howard Evans, had been laid to 
rest. In the evening she had tenderly 
ministered to the wants of her favorite 
niece. Miss Bragg, who was then in 
the first stages of a simple-seeming 
sickness that rapidly developed into a 
long and nearly fatal case of typhoid 
fever. 

At her usual bedtime the great au- 
thor kissed her sister and niece and 
passed into her own room adjoining her 


138 


BIOGRAPHICAL 


sister’s. She appeared in even unusu- 
ally good condition physically; and at 
early dawn next day returned to the 
sick lady’s bedside, taking her hand 
gently and speaking only a few words 
of cheering “ Good morning ” as she 
passed and closed the door between the 
rooms. 

A moment later Mrs. Bragg heard 
something heavy fall in Mrs. Wilson’s 
chamber. Supposing that some piece 
of furniture had fallen upon her, Mrs. 
Bragg sped to the closed door and 
knocked. Mrs. Wilson had fallen 
across the washstand and lay motion- 
less and silent. She gave one, not pain- 
ful gasp ; and ere her sister could place 
her upon the bed she was dead! When 
Dr. Mastin, her regular physician, an- 
swered the hasty summons from a few 


REMINISCENCES 139 


blocks away this life had ended for the 
famous and loved woman. 

It was only 6 o’clock when my kind 
hostess tapped at my door and broke 
the news of my old friend’s passing to 
another life. 

It was not so much a surprise as a 
shock in its suddenness, for all her 
friends knew from her good doctor that 
Mrs. Wilson’s heart was very weak and 
that the end might come at any mo- 
ment, when least looked for, and Mrs. 
Mastin was one of her closest and most 
valued friends. 

I had been to see Mrs. Wilson but 
two evenings before her death, and 
shown her the saucy preface to my 
forthcoming “ Beaux, Belles and 
Brains of the 60’s.” She had laughed 
over it and then, turning to a visitor on 


140 BIOGRAPHICAL 


her gallery, remarked, “ Mr. De Leon 
and I are such old friends that I insist 
on seeing what he writes before our 
good publisher does. Who knows but 
that when our books are done one of us 
may not be alive to talk them over with 
the other.” 

Stunned for a moment, after hear- 
ing the news of her death, the next, I 
turned to my open typewriter I had 
risen in the night to use, and wrote (or 
they wrote themselves) simple verses. 
Later I read them to our good Doctor’s 
wife, who had known her from her 
young girlhood; and she read them to 
the stricken sisters of the one who had 
gone. 

Mrs. Wilson’s own hand penned the 
words that covered the ivy-wreathed 
marble above Howard Evans’ grave. 


REMINISCENCES 141 


which she had walked out to visit on her 
last birthday. 

The sisters at once decided tliat my 
lines should be carved upon the stone 
above Mrs. Wilson’s grave as the best 
expression of what we all had lost. 

Long after the burial I &st heard 
Mrs. Bragg say my simple but heart- 
felt tribute had been honored by carv- 
ing it on the laurel encircled marble 
over the grave of her dearly beloved 
sister. 

Not for any intrinsic worth in them, 
but for the value placed upon these 
simple verses by her most intimate and 
loving friends, which touched me more 
than anything that has happened to me 
in a long and active life, the lines are 
here produced for the benefit of others: 


142 


BIOGRAPHICAL 


AUGUSTA EVANS WILSON 


(Impromptu on hearing of her sud- 
den death at early morning.) 


Dead! in the fullness of years and fame. 
What has she left? 

High on the roll of fair duty a name, 
Loved; friends devoted, as few women 
claim: 

A Nation bereft! 


And it is a singular coinMdence that, 
when Fitz Lee died, I rose from sleep 
before dawn and wrote on my type- 
writer the four lines below, which, the 
women of his family wrote, deserved 
and should have a central place on his 
monument: 


REMINISCENCES 143 


FITZHUGH LEE: 

War graved a man deep on his ru- 
bricked shield. 

Love traced it softly on the hearts of 
men! 

But over every refought field. 

Memory shall wake Fitz Lee to ride 
again! 

When the Evans family moved to 
Mobile and took the Cottage Hill resi- 
dence where her father died, Augusta 
was a slip of a girl in her teens, tall, 
healthy in mind, and already a glutton 
for learning. It was here that her first 
book, “ Inez,” was written, and its in- 
ception and her work upon it showed 
her industry and her systematic methods 
of labor. But this book was begun and 


144 BIOGRAPHICAL 


finished with no thought either of pub- 
lication or of profit. 

Miss Evans’ room was remote from 
those of the other members of the fam- 
ily, and her old Mammy was presum- 
ably her confidante in this momentous 
event. More than once Mrs. Evans 
hinted to Mammy the fact that her 
daughter’s lamp burned strangely late 
at night for a young and undeveloped 
girl’s ; but the faithful old negress only 
mumbled some incoherent excuse as, 
“ Miss Gusta’s studyin’ sumpin’.” The 
late hours seemed to lengthen as the 
Festival of the Birth drew nearer. At 
last the glad morn broke and Augusta 
Evans laid upon her father’s pillow the 
finished manuscript of her first novel, 
ribboned and transcribed in the large, 
round and legible hand which remained 


REMINISCENCES 145 


her characteristic through after years of 
manual literary work. It was only in 
her approaching age and feebleness 
that she asked assistance of the type- 
writer. 

The larder of the Evans’ home at 
Summerville was ample, for that fam- 
ily was as large as its hospitality was 
broad and its love was deep for the 
Southern brother. But as ample as was 
the larder of the Evans family it felt 
that strain which tightened inexorably 
as the grim war struggle waxed harder 
and more and more deadly to friend 
and foe. 

It has been told that the young 
Augusta Evans went forth from the 
roof tree of her parents, a happy, 
hopeful girl, to join pleasant friends 
and to enjoy to the full all the 


146 


BIOGRAPHICAL 


novel delights of metropolitan life so 
familiar to her good friends, the Derby 
family. 

When she returned to the parental 
home the girl had vanished before the 
advance of grave, sedate womanhood, 
swift, strong and lasting; for the sud- 
den transmutation fused her personal 
attributes and the riches of her forceful 
and active energy were recast into prac- 
ticality and resource, tempered by an 
all-pervading tenderness. 

And now the long, fluttering, feverish 
wings of War, sailing over her native 
land, had closed with a short dull flap ; 
horrid Bellona had settled for her first 
real swoop, and her grewsome shadow 
weakened the Sun of young Hope that 
it could not wholly darken as it rested 
over the whole Southland. The first 


REMINISCENCES 147 


ordered and best prepared levies for the 
legions of resistance to threatened in- 
vasion had been sent to the best points 
for effective concentration ; and the one 
central thought line of the Central 
South was daily busy in transporting 
the variously equipped soldiers “ To the 
Front!” Then the rush forward was 
hastened by the commanders, for all 
were ready to meet the first battle and 
make it close and fierce. Lines were 
laid; supplies were ready; and the 
anxious experts, who had seen war and 
knew its full meaning, took a deep 
breath and — waited! 

The best and most loved darlings of 
nearly every Southern household had 
been sent to the most exposed points; 
and those who knew the dreadful game 
watched with suspense — if with the most 


148 BIOGRAPHICAL 


certainty — for the first real throw of 
the deadly dice. 

The Evans’ home was in the storm 
center of preparation and of brave, if 
throat-filling, expectation. Its heir had 
gone to the front: but left heart-tears, 
hidden by smiles, when he marched 
away to war. 

When the j^oung and gentle Southern 
girl — possibly a trifle dizz}^ from the 
novel whirl of New York visiting — 
fixed her clear eyes upon the guiding 
star of Robert Edward Lee’s life 
she scarcely knew his name; for the 
war had not yet blown away the clouds 
that hid it and set it as a fixed 
blaze in the constellation of Immor- 
tality. 

Torn by the contest of tw^o emotions ; 
loving her new-found love willi a 


REMINISCENCES 149 


strength as deep as it was tender ; 
wholly alone among strangers — she 
took counsel of her better self and said, 
as he did: “Duty is life’s sublimest 
word! ” 

To the girl held by two diverse emo- 
tions the struggle must have been 
equally bitter and hard in degree, as 
throwing to the wind the loved career, 
so well begun, for a surely trying some- 
thing now, and in the near future, prob- 
ably, black! Yet neither hesitated long; 
and then, far apart as they were in 
training, situation, and aim — they 
spoke, as in one voice, the words that 
have sounded as a world’s diapason: “ I 
y will go with my people ! ” 

When Augusta Evans came back 
under her father’s roof at the pretty 
suburb, Siunmerville, three miles away, 


150 BIOGRAPHICAL 


the echo of preparation was loud and 
all-embracing on every hand. The 
idolized brother, Howard, had already 
girded on his sword, taciturn but ready 
to flash it to the sun at the first word 
of “ To the Front ” from his superior 
who led the flower of the Southland in 
the third Alabama. And next him the 
boy, Vivian, was at his brother’s side, 
speaking that living truth that made the 
hideous grapple so close and so long, 
“ Good blood cannot lie! ” 

It had been the hopeful, sprightly 
girl, who left her loved ones a few short 
weeks before. She was the grave and 
balanced woman now with hope deep in 
her soul. Those nearest and dearest to 
her were needed by the Cause that was 
hers and theirs alike; no tremor of lip; 
not one sigh of regret should dampen 


REMINISCENCES 151 


one instant the ardor of determination. 
And, even before the rapid tread of 
parting died away, the girl who sacri- 
ficed all for principle, as she had then, 
went to work with her own untutored 
hands : 

‘‘ To do for those dear ones what woman 
alone in her pity can do! ” 

Augusta regularly entered upon the 
full duties of an army nurse promptly 
upon the departure of her brothers. 
She cooked for the sick; bathed the fev- 
ered brow and read the Word to the 
departing ones, ere the breath left for- 
ever. She collected clothing and sup- 
plies for the well recruits, and cooked 
unaccustomed dainties for them. 

So far there had been no wounds to 
tend. They came later in all their 


152 


BIOGRAPHICAL 


ghastly hideousness : but what there was 
proved enough for the tyro. 

So she baked and oiled and brewed 
soups, in a way, wonderful at first, but 
one a lesson in the hard school of 
preparation for the dark days to 
come. 

One day she reached the gate with a 
great tin bucket in one hand, a 
bundle of loaves in the other, and the 
pockets of her rough coat bulging about 
her burdens as did the huge homemade 
sunbonnet about her ruddy cheeks. 
Then came a cloud of dust : a section of 
Cavalry halted, wheeled and saluted, 
drawing sabers for “ Salute! ” 

Col. Robert White Smith, the gifted 
commander of the Regiment, had come 
to compliment and thank the little 
maiden for her love of the Cause and 


REMINISCENCES 153 


her care for its first defenders. He dis- 
mounted, flung his bridle to an orderly 
and made her a little speech in courtly 
phrase, for he was a scholar as well as 
a “ soldier gentleman.” 

The girl stood immovable and mute. 
When she attempted to stammer some- 
thing an old shirt of her brother’s flut- 
tered from the bundle and was given to 
the breeze. When she began again she 
only screamed “ Ouch! ” as splashes of 
boiling soup fell on her hand from the 
tin bucket. Then the colonel re- 
mounted, the squadron wheeled and the 
complimenting visit ended with only 
one side to it. Miss Evans’ cheeks were 
crimson; but she wiped her bucket, 
picked Howard’s purloined garment 
from its perch on the hedge and went 
about her morning avocations as calmly 


154 BIOGRAPHICAL 


as if she had been receiving squadrons 
and colonels all her life. 

One day the Nurse had a suggestion 
that made her color more crimson than 
did the visit of the Cavalry Squadron. 
She might have exclaimed, if she did 
not, ‘‘ This is so sudden.” 

A lank young Georgian sergeant who 
had consumed too many unaccustomed 
dainties, and had likewise eaten too fast, 
called up the house surgeon after mid- 
night to say that he expected to be with 
his long-sainted Mother before daylight 
unless medical science could prevent 
that meeting. He was taken into the 
ward of the hospital “ Miss ’Gusta ” 
tended, and she found him there and 
fed and nursed him back to health. 
On a day of convalescence he said to 
her suddenly, “ Say! Miss ’Gusta, 


REMINISCENCES 155 


kin yu’uns read the marriage pray’r? ” 

Upon her reading the Ritual she 
imagined that the poor fellow was 
thinking of some far-away sweetheart. 
He lay silent a while, and suddenly 
added, “ Say, we’uns might read hit be- 
fore the Chaplain! ” Then the volun- 
teer nurse thought — if she did not put 
into words — the usual phrase as to sud- 
denness. But she only replied verbally 
that this was no time to think of such 
nonsense, much less to talk of it. He 
again lay silent a while and then said, 
“ Nonsense is hit? Well, maybe it air, 
but yu’uns wouldn’t mind it ef the 
Chaplain was to write occasional? ” 

She never heard from this “ serious 
beau ” afterward. 

A prettier episode of Miss Evans’ 
earlier days touches the Battle of Look- 


1 


156 


BIOGRAPHICAL 


out Mountain. Howard Evans was 
now captain with Bragg, and the work 
had grown light at Camp Beulah owing 
to the great distance from the theater 
of active operations. So Miss Evans 
and her Mother determined on a sur- 
prise to the loved one who might never 
“ Come Marching Home Again.” 

The journey was a hard one in box 
cars, with conscripts and convalescents 
returning to the front; yet the ladies 
ended it at Lookout that night. But 
their boy had gone the day before at 
the head of his Company and the weary 
women found themselves almost alone 
on the top of the fateful mountain. 
The courteous officer in command, 
knowing the travelers were tired, put 
at their service the only shelter near, a 
rude little hut ; and they quickly sought 


BEMINISCENCES 157 


repose. It was soon broken, as Mrs. 
Evans touched her daughter quietly and 
hade her listen to stealthy feet outside. 
She feared they were wretches, who fol- 
lowed all armies, coming with evil in- 
tent. Soon these fears were dispelled, 
and the whispering ceased as a gentle 
tap came on the lockless door, against 
which a portmanteau had been placed 
to keep it closed. Then came a polite 
request to speak with Miss Evans. 

A short explanation and request 
from the strange visitor followed. The 
men had heard that the young lady was 
a singer, and begged for a song to give 
them fresh inspiration. The lady with 
the voice waited hut a moment, then 
walked from the shanty, clad in her 
night-dress, covered with a long coat in 
which she had traveled. And there 


158 


BIOGRAPHICAL 


under the full moon on the top of the 
soon-to-be historic mountain she rolled 
out the inspiring words of James Ran- 
dall’s deathless song to the accompani- 
ment of wild hurrahs ! 

At that time the soldiers’ friend was 
in perfect health and possessed a strong, 
clear soprano voice of sufficient vibrant 
quality to carry far away on the night 
wind. 

Another song was begged for. 
“ Dixie ” was sung in response to 
bravos, but the soldiers begged for 
“ Maryland, My Maryland ” once 
more; and she gave it better even than 
before. 

Two days later the slaughter of 
Lookout Mountain was done. Many 
of the cold faces upturned to that same 
moon wore a smile. Were they dream- 


REMINISCENCES 159 


ing when they died of the great Poet’s 
War Song, written for them? 

I am sure that Miss Augusta Evans 
never sang “ When My King Came 
Riding In,” for its words were never 
written at that time, as its gifted young 
authoress was then a baby. But I do 
know that she largely admired Mar- 
garet O’Brien, and when I read the 
poem to her she exclaimed, “ I think 
that one of the daintiest and most beau- 
tiful ideas prettily expressed that I ever 
heard”; and over and over again she 
asked me to read the poem. 

And I also know that when Miss 
Augusta herself tired of her loneli- 
ness, she was very content and happy 
in her “ King,” even though she did 
not say: 


160 


BIOGRAPHICAL 


“ ‘ My King will come/ I said when a 
child, 

“ ‘ On a steed of dapple gray/ ” 

And I well know she asked for no more 
when she “ looked in the eyes of an old- 
time friend and found my King had 
come.’' 

It was in her thirty-third year that 
Miss Augusta Evans decided to accept 
Colonel Wilson’s “ Kingship,” and 
after that noted wedding she moved 
over to beautiful Ashland, his home, 
and became its gentle mistress and well 
accepted mother of his children. 

I have never known a case when a 
stepmother was so well received by a 
large family of adults, and I have 
endeavored to describe truly the 
life of “ Ruth and Naomi ” as it grew 
to be. 


REMINISCENCES 161 


The house was a beautiful and ample 
one, and Mrs. Wilson’s fame drew 
to it hordes of visitors who came from 
interest and in part from curiosity. All 
were received with stately courtesy ; 
many were received with affection and 
warmth. 

She was devoted to flowers, live stock 
and all phases of domestic life. I do 
not think I have ever seen more perfect 
flowers than some that came from her. 
Her poultry and pigs and horses were 
always good; and the very domestics 
grinned ebony-set smiles, illumined 
with snowy white teeth, whenever a vis- 
itor praised one of these matters of in- 
terest to her mistress. 

Col. Wilson was devoted to his wife 
to a degree that bordered upon the pa- 
thetic. He thought her not only the 


162 BIOGRAPHICAL 


greatest, but the handsomest and most 
elegant woman in the world, and he was 
always most happy when he was by her 
side and the rest of the world was re- 
peating this to him. 

They were congenial, too, and he 
tried to give up the cares of business 
and left them at the front gate of that 
magnificent avenue of oaks which led 
to the broad gallery on which its mis- 
tress always stood ready to receive him ; 
and they walked together every morn- 
ing to the car, where she watched him 
and threw kisses after him until he dis- 
appeared. 

I well remember the occasion on 
which the Southern Press Convention 
called in a body to pay its compliments 
to the Mistress of Ashland, not to the 
Author. There were some hundred of 


REMINISCENCES 163 


them, led by the erratic Colonel Mann 
(then owner of the Register), and 
every fellow went away either loaded 
with flowers; with the domestic wine 
that she made so well, or something 
stronger; and every one was not only 
loaded, but ready to go off with the 
happiest memories of this distinguished 
woman. 

She had the only scented Camellias 
I ever saw. One of them was almost a 
tree, and when Barrett and Booth or 
John McCullough came to Mobile she 
invariably sent some flowery token to 
them. On one occasion she presented 
McCullough — it was after his first per- 
formance of “ Virginius ” — with a Ro- 
man shield of ‘‘ life ” size, composed en- 
tirely of that flower, its border being 
blood-red to suit the character. Again, 


164 


BIOGRAPHICAL 


when Booth and Barrett came, she sent 
to the greatest of actors a pillow of 
usual size wholly composed of the parti- 
colored camellias. Both actors in turn 
acknowledged the tribute by stopping 
beneath her box and making their pro- 
foundest bows. 

“ De Leon’s Minstrels ” was an or- 
ganization that was never organized: 
having neither object, officers and no 
regular members. It was a society 
“ Japhet ” without any greater object 
in view than a lark on a Summer day. 
But Mrs. Wilson became the god- 
mother of the nondescript, giving it a 
name and it became as near a “ fad ” 
with her as she ever permitted anything 
to be. 

One day of glorious Southern 
Spring, when there was balm in the air 


REMINISCENCES 165 


that was wafted from the Gulf, a party 
of society amateurs drove down to 
lunch on the lower end of the famous 
Shell Road. 

Heading homeward, I pointed ’cross 
country and called to the driver of the 
Surrey immediately following: 

“ Ashland lies over there. Suppose 
we drive across and give Miss Augusta 
a musical surprise party? ” 

The heads of all the horses were 
turned, and shortly the jolly cavalcade 
was bumping over roadless fields and 
hillocks and then alighted at the back 
entrance of Ashland. 

It chanced to be her day to stay at 
home for visitors. She never admitted 
that she had a “ reception day,” as 
usually imderstood; and it was about 
Colonel Wilson’s hour for ‘‘ putting on 


166 BIOGRAPHICAL 


his home clothes,” as he called it, on 
leaving the Bank of which he became an 
officer on resigning from the railroad. 

We mounted the back stairway 
of the roomy house, and filed into the 
broad hall, every performer carrying 
his violin, mandolin and even the pon- 
derous bass fiddle; the solo singers, of 
course, empty handed. And while 
Plutus and Fashion and Learning 
stared, with no more ado I gave the 
signal and the “ Minstrels ” lined up, 
tuned and began. 

The best of Mobile’s musical 
strength was represented from several 
societies, and the concert would have 
“ gone,” even in Boston. When it was 
over, the hostess placed herself at the 
head of the line and made us a short 
and amusing little speech. It was mod- 




REMINISCENCES 167 


eled after the speeches of a noted pub- 
licist very popular locally at the time; 
telling us that, as we had filled her ear 
so well, she would do her best to fill 
our mouths. Then she led the way to 
a dainty and generous lunch table and 
pressed her home vintage upon us 
freely; for she never was a follower of 
any ism. 

Meantime her husband assisted his 
wife in the honors, smiling the smile 
that always spoke his pride and admira- 
tion in her. 

Upon leaving, the “ Minstrels ” were 
urged to return: and they did so more 
than once afterward, let us hope to the 
mutual pleasure of everyone. 

Mrs. Wilson was a great lover of 
music and was interested in the presen- 
tation of good plays, by great artists; 


168 BIOGRAPHICAL 


but for mediocrity in either she had but 
little patience. She was literally ‘‘ car- 
ried away ” with what she told them 
was a revelation of Mobile music. 

But it was in the privacy of her 
home, when outsiders did not come, and 
she received her friends, that Mrs. Wil- 
son was at her best. James Randall, 
the poet, as elsewhere told, was very 
close to her; and I took him out behind 
a fast mare to pay her an informal visit. 
It was one of the pleasantest evenings 
I ever spent, and we never talked about 
a book during the whole time. We 
talked of old times, and the war, and 
what she did for the soldiers, and there 
was no “ encyclopaedia ” (of which her 
critics were so often talking) in the con- 
versation from start to finish. 

In religion, the author was always a 


REMINISCENCES 169 


devout and consistent member of the 
Methodist Church; but she was toler- 
ant of those who differed from her in 
practice. She had intimates especially 
in later life, who were in other commu- 
nions and she was one of the first and 
most earnest workers in the ‘‘ Non- 
sectarian Infirmary ” where the “ Wil- 
son room ” is shown with great pride. 

She was generously liberal in all her 
giving; but she had the reticent, if 
open, right hand that never let the in- 
quisitive left know what was done by 
the other. Yet she was never lavish or 
ostentatious; and being a remarkably 
good business woman she made her 
gifts to the needy tell most effectively. 
They never went to waste. 

The prettiest things about Ashland 
were the oaks of the avenue and the 


170 BIOGRAPHICAL 


front porch of the old house, and it is 
the old house to-day as it stands under 
the ownership of the dainty girl I knew 
as a baby. When Mr. Wilson died his 
widow, not recovering rapidly from thej 
shock, could not live in the house, and^ 
she moved to town, moving three times 
before she settled in the high-stepped 
residence on Government Street, which 
now has become an apartment house. 
EhUj anni labunter. 

Still Mrs. Wilson would not give up 
the old place until a little before her 
death, then she sold it to Mr. George 
Fearn. 

I don’t think there was any condition 
attached to its purchase, but he and his 
wife decided that they would keep the 
old house as Augusta Wilson’s home. 
Exteriorly it stands to-day as it did in 


REMINISCENCES 171 


her lifetime. Within is one of the cosi- 
est and most modern of Southern 
homes. There are now six residences 
of the spic-and-span description scat- 
tered around the old Ashland House. 
Mr. Fearn has practically made the 
place, which he knew would always re- 
main a show one to tourists ; selling lots 
with ample grounds to the various 
holders. 

Mrs. Wilson died in the old Govern- 
ment Street house with the high steps, 
built by Mr. James Crawford, a long 
deceased merchant of Mobile. 

When Henry Watterson, the erratic, 
iridescent editor, was twenty years 
younger he came to Mobile to lecture 
about the Money Devil. He was an old 
friend of Mrs. Wilson’s when he was 
but a boy with a gray jacket on his 


172 BIOGRAPHICAL 


broad shoulders and a “ sanctum in the 
saddle ” as an aide to Forrest. 

The little mare again pulled him out 
to see Mrs. Wilson, even though she 
sweated under the trial, but she would 
have neighed with delight had she 
known what pleasure it gave the vis- 
itors. Henry had never seen Miss Au- 
gusta in all the years between Forrest 
and to-day. We mounted the porch 
and sent up our names; the pleasant- 
faced and gentle woman with marks of 
time upon her came down and greeted 
us cordially. Then she talked of pigs, 
chickens, flowers, anything but litera- 
ture. Her language was simple and 
her thoughts dwelt upon the common- 
place; and after several moments of 
talk Henry put up his hand and said to 
me under it, “ Say, I wonder if the old 


REMINISCENCES 173 


lady would send up and tell Miss Au- 
gusta we are waiting.” 

It was too good to lose, so I said, 
“ Miss Augusta, will you go and tell 
yourself that Henry Watterson is here; 
he is a bigger man than I am and he 
must be obeyed.” I tell this simple 
yarn to show that those critics who said 
that this great woman was a pedant 
mistook her utterly, simply because she 
talked and acted wholly different from 
the people in her books. 

When “ St. Twelmo ” was written, 
shortly after the vogue began for the 
original, I was talking with her about 
it. And she evidently enjoyed it very 
much and said it was a “ great thing.” 
So it was in the pictures I said, but the 
exaggerations on which it was founded 
were extreme. It was written by clever 


174 BIOGRAPHICAL 


Will Webb; somewhat, I think, in re- 
venge for Miss Evans’ flat refusal to 
meet him personally because he was on 
the New York Times, 2 l Republican 
paper. 

By the way, Mr. Webb was a funny 
fellow and a stammerer, and on the 
staff was a great card. His work was 
often attributed to me, after I wrote 
“ Rock and Rye,” and to this very day 
I get letters from everywhere and oc- 
casionally asking where they can get 
copies of my book. I wish to disclaim 
again any sort of connection with it 
whatever, for at that time I was crack- 
ing the nuts of political editorial life 
and had never written but one burlesque 
in my life — “ Hamlet ” — ^which Cox 
played for one hundred consecutive per- 
formances in New York. 


REMINISCENCES 175 


The best thing about Miss Evans was 
her absolute fear of nobody. She wrote 
what she believed and felt a pride in 
saying what she thought when asked for 
her opinion. She was an inveterate 
hater of shams, and was in no wise 
reticent of her censure of immorality 
in act or speech ; or those who copied it 
because it was “ the thing,” or because 
they feared its influence and condoned 
it in any manner. 

To the woman herself the greatest 
meed for her works came in the fact 
being known to her that they had done 
good. I remember. one great incident 
as absolute fact. She one day received, 
and I have seen the letter, a missive 
from a Western judge of some promi- 
nence. He was not a young man, and 
had gotten into bad habits. And, hav- 


176 


BIOGRAPHICAL 


ing had a very severe attack of mardd 
potUj had been sent to the hospitii to 
recuperate. The letter was brief and 
strong. He told the author that he had 
read her book during his confinement 
in the infirmary, and he added that he 
had not wanted to take a drink since 
he had finished it, and that he would 
never do so again. That was a book 
worth writing. I have seen other let- 
ters, one from a wayward girl who told 
her that she had been willing to do any- 
thing until she had read a book which 
she named. 

I believe that the most prized things 
that Augusta Evans held closest to her 
heart were the trinkets given her by the 
sick soldiers. They were from peach 
stones and horn buttons and from 
carved wood, when the men, going 


REMINISCENCES 177 


away, wanted to leave something with 
Miss ’Gusta to remember them by. 
They were plain, ugly, not very novel, 
and generally very dirty, but she be- 
lieved them all precious metal fused 
from heart-ore, and worthy to be set in 
gems. She always showed them to vis- 
itors, and she asked me once, “ Have 
you ever seen them? ” I said I wished 
I had never heard of them. 

She took “ chaff ” with good grace, 
and there was a delightful twitter of her 
lips that was not a smile and far 
from a laugh that told she enjoyed it 
within even if reproof sat upon her 
brow. 

In a sick room with a publisher hur- 
rying me to recollect something of her, 
I feel that I have remembered too 
much. But such truth was Augusta 


178 


BIOGRAPHICAL 


Evans in part that I hope we may look 
upon her life many times again. 

THE AUTHOR’S FAMILY, 

At the outset, this Sketch had not the 
least idea of being either a family tree 
or a critical “ twig ”! Necessity knows 
no law that does not break itself, how- 
ever; and the writer found so many 
who wanted information as to names 
and dates regarding Mrs. Augusta E. 
Wilson, that he has dropped into them, 
even as Dickens’ Mr. W egg “ Dropped 
into poetry.” 

Interest naturally centers about the 
immediate family of the noted novelist, 
even when the curious one has not read 
her work and we all know that there 
are at least two kinds of readers : those 


REMINISCENCES 179 


that read the names of books and those 
that read the title-pages! 

The father of Augusta Jane, the eld- 
est of his children, was Matthew Ryan 
Evans, a well-to-do Georgian of Co- 
lumbus in the beginning of the last cen- 
tury. Her mother was Sarah Skime 
Howard. 

The second child was a son, J. How- 
ard; there being very little difference 
between the brother and sister. He 
was all through life a gentleman of ur- 
bane manner and character; but his 
manhood was attested in the Confeder- 
acy, where he fairly won his promotion 
from the ranks to a captaincy in that 
veritable corps df elite, the Third Ala- 
bama Regiment. He died only in 
1909; his loss being a serious blow to 
his then aged sister. The pair were, 


180 


BIOGRAPHICAL 


for longer than an average life-time, as 
close to each other as twins could have 
been. 

Vivian Rutherford was the second 
brother and third child. He was in the 
same regiment as his elder; and he ap- 
preciated peace, for he married, and 
this Howard never thought of doing. 
Vivian is also dead, but leaves a daugh- 
ter, Sallie Evans, still living in Texas. 
Caroline Cooper, the fourth of the 
children, was a pretty, vivacious and 
popular girl and w^as much admired by 
James Ryder Randall, the Maryland 
poet, but neither of them was in good 
health and parental objection pre- 
vented any serious result. She later 
married Col. Bush Jones, but both 
died years ago. Randall was my chum 
at Georgetown College, in the ’50’s; 


REMINISCENCES 181 


and was very fond of going to see Miss 
Augusta. 

Sarah Howard was the next child. 
She became the wife of that gallant ex- 
Confederate and veteran Col. J. W. 
Bush of Birmingham who left her wid- 
owed after over forty years of married 
life. 

Her sons are George and Howard 
Evans Bush, of the same city. Mary 
Eliza was the next sister; becoming 
Mrs. George Tarleton of New York, 
where the couple now reside; and their 
daughter is now Mrs. Alma Tarleton 
Norris, of Birmingham, and one son, 
Garrard Tarleton. 

Randolph Crenshaw, the last brother, 
is dead, but leaves one daughter, Au- 
gusta Evans, and one son, Clarence 
Evans; and the eighth and youngest 


182 


BIOGRAPHICAL 


of the Evans’ family was a little girl 
when the family were at Summerville. 
Virginia Evans married Braxton 
Bragg, a handsome and gallant fellow, 
who left her a widow with four chil- 
dren. They are Miss Lilly Bragg, 
named for her grandmother’s favorite 
flower; and Howard Evans Braxton 
and John Bragg. 

The Braggs are the only intact fam- 
ily of the whole Evans’ direct “ clan.” 
And pleasant and popular it is, too. 
The mother is genial and cultured and 
is thoroughly devoted to the memory 
of her author sister, which is ever-pres- 
ent with her. Her daughter is a young 
lady who would grace any circle into 
which chance threw her; and at home 
she is respected and liked for high 
womanly traits and proper dignity. 


REMINISCENCES 183 


She it was who took the last kiss her 
Aunt Augusta gave, on that sad morn- 
ing when she walked straight from 
Miss Braggs’ bedside to her death. So 
with that daughter and three manly 
and well-liked sons, Mrs. Bragg has 
good reason to glide into old age 
happy and content. 

Such was and is the old Evans fam- 

iiy. 


THE WILSON FAMILY 

There were two brothers, dating from 
the early days of the nineteenth cen- 
tury, Lorenzo, having been born in 
1806, and his brother some three years 
before him, of good old English stock, 
well educated and hard-working, tough 
and energetic withal. 


184 BIOGRAPHICAL 


In those days there was no railroad 
transportation and investors traveled in 
coaches or on horseback. So the Mary- 
land brothers took the former method; 
and Lorenzo brought w ith him a brood 
of young Pyle game cocks, the strain of 
which he kept to the day of his death at 
Ashland, and of which he was very 
proud. 

The travelers settled at Mobile; her 
soil and climate suiting them, and posi- 
tions seeming open in the new country, 
then building great roads. Both broth- 
ers attached themselves to the Mobile 
and Montgomery Railroad, at that time 
running to the Tensas; L. J. was a con- 
structor and L. M. getting rapid pro- 
motion, until he became Vice President 
of the line, thus quickly attaining a po- 
sition of marked influence. 


REMINISCENCES 185 


That early the road only ran to the 
Capital City, the lower terminal being 
the Tensas river landing of the Ala- 
bama. But the Wilsons saw a good 
future opening to extended facilities, 
and were very enthusiastic over the 
opening of the M. & B. Railroad, which 
rail route was projected when the two 
came to Mobile about the end of the 
eighteenth century or early in the nine- 
teenth. 

This was the transportation egg out 
of which was hatched the great L. & N. 
System, so potent a transport as to 
now boast of the best dividends in the 
world. 

There are eminent officials of this 
Iron Octopus to-day who know all the 
facts, and many who recall all of the 
opening celebration at Louisville about 


186 BIOGRAPHICAL 


1870, who did not know what it was all 
about. 

Lorenzo M. Wilson came to Mobile 
with his brother, as noted above, early 
in the thirties. He married, soon after 
getting settled as an Alabamian, Miss 
Sarah A. Chandler, daughter of Col. 
John Chandler, of Selma. This first 
alliance brought three sons and two 
daughters, Charles Daniel, Albert For- 
man, Mary Chandler, Louis Madison, 
and Fannie Walsh Wilson; all of whom 
are now dead save the youngest and 
last named. 

Soon after reaching the Gulf Coun- 
try the domestic and sylvan taste of 
Colonel L. M. Wilson longed for a pied 
d terre of his own, and he selected a 
beautiful site of large extent, just semi- 
urban and full of great and varied trees. 


REMINISCENCES 187 


This he named Ashland, but whether 
from the great Statesman or from the 
great growth I have not satisfied my- 
self. Here he erected that handsome 
and delightful residence in which he 
spent so many happy years of his life, 
and which later grew to be of such in- 
terest to the tourists through the fame 
of his second marriage to Miss Augusta 
Evans. 

At Ashland all his children and two 
of his grandchildren were reared: here 
they died, and the affection and devo- 
tion of both parents made it a paradise 
for them. Here dwelt the gentle and 
practical widow of his son, literally as 
the “ Daughter of the House! ” And 
such a beautiful friendship sprang up 
and grew with a Jonah’s Gourd ” 
rapidity into such a solidity that a hel 


188 BIOGRAPHICAL 


esprit among their intimates called the 
women Ruth and Naomi, 

After their long life and communion 
— ranging around through pantry, to 
kitchen, and lightened by sunshine of 
happy home laughter, only to grope 
with freezing night of sorrow, black, 
abysmal — ^which did but show the dif- 
fering types of each to the other, the 
mistress of Ashland and the daughter- 
in-law, who dwelt there near by to her 
all those years, slowly drew nearer and 
nearer into “ one that was into the 
other! ” 

Not the most deft art of the palette, 
the chisel and the tongue, not their 
replicas in the tableaux, theatricals, and 
moving picture could transmute its 
fleeting tints to texture better than the 
every-day life of these two women as 


REMINISCENCES 189 


they passed serenely through the daily 
Ashland life. 

In it and them each hour’s inter- 
course pleaded wordlessly, “ Entreat 
me not to leave thee! ” 

It was my privilege to know both the 
daughters of Colonel Wilson in their 
youth; “ Miss Molly,” when a beautiful 
and mentally attractive girl, married 
Tom Cox. They had two sons who 
were as the “ apple of their eye,” and 
who have reached manhood years ago, 
Ernest being already married, and 
George still living as a bachelor in 
Washington. 

Their father was an officer, ante bel- 
lurrij of that famous company of “ Na- 
tional Rifles ” which fell apart into two 
companies of ready drilled soldiers as 
the War began, and did such active 


190 BIOGRAPHICAL 


work for both sides in it as to make 
most of its men commissioned officers 
before its close. Tom Cox was one of 
these; entering the Southern Army in 
its early days as a lieutenant, he became 
Captain of C. S. Engineer Regulars, 
and would have received his already 
written commission as Major had the 
surrender been a few days delayed. 

“ Little Fanny,” as she was famil- 
iarly known in those days, married 
Frank Jordon, now of New York. She 
was pretty, piquante and very bright, 
and her adult daughters follow mater- 
nal example in those particulars. 
Elodie, one of them, has already made 
her mark in the musical world. Frank 
Jordon is son to that noted Col. Gabriel 
Jordon, who was Chief Engineer and 
manager of Mobile’s own railroad — the 


REMINISCENCES 191 


Mobile & Ohio — and has long slept 
under the beautiful trees in Magnolia’s 
City of the Silent. 

And such, from oldest to youngest, 
are the family of its able head, who 
married in his later life the greatest of 
the writers of the Southland. 

SEQUENCE OF THE EVANS 
BOOKS 

I have carefully refrained from all 
criticism, or discussion of the works of 
the most variously estimated author 
this country has ever produced. 

Still a mere mention of the books 
themselves seems to make needful some 
roster in the chronological sequence in 
which they appeared, because of the 
general ignorance of the very people 


192 BIOGRAPHICAL 


who have read them so admiringly for 
years. 

Inez was the first effort from Miss 
Evans’ untried pen, as has already been 
told. It grew out of her naturally im- 
aginative nature, stimulated by her 
brief residence in San Antonio, when 
the family left Columbus, Georgia. 
They later settled in Mobile. The cli- 
mate, tradition and Indian legend, 
fused into a romance of to-day, are all 
plainly apparent in the pages of the 
book. 

Inez was -written in 1855, when the 
author was but ‘‘ a slip of a willowy 
girl.” It was first published, five years 
later, by Harper & Brothers, New 
York. 

Beulah^ the popular favorite war- 
day romance, came out next, making 


REMINISCENCES 193 


many friends for the new author, when 
published by Derby & Jackson, New 
York, in 1859. 

Macaria was a veritable war book 
and was first printed in Richmond, by 
West & Johnson in 1864. 

Saint Elmo, perhaps the favorite and 
certainly the most discussed of the 
author’s works, was the fourth: pub- 
lished in 1866 by G. W. Carleton, of 
New York, who thereafter became her 
regular publisher. 

Many, and often ridiculous, have 
been the suggested origins of this story, 
given by those who even claim to have 
read it ‘‘ a thousand times! ” The book 
explains itself, but it is sometimes taken 
to be a name for a pretty and thriving 
little town nestled at the very foot of 
Lookout Mountain, ‘‘ where the battle 


194 BIOGRAPHICAL 


was fought,” some years before the 
town was thought of. 

There is a station of the L. &: N. road 
running down the Alabama Coast, 
sometimes accredited with its god-par- 
entage. 

In very fact, the story itself tells its 
name. This is an electric phenomenon 
sometimes seen^by sailors in stormy 
weather, when they aver Genii in 
knightly shapes hover about the ship. 
One of these, with his “ partner of evil 
power,” is often seen on the right side 
of the ship : in which case, he is the pre- 
cursor of good weather. This one is 
called St. Elmo. 

Vashti was Miss Evans’ fifth book 
and was published (as were the subse- 
quent ones) by the Carleton house. It 
is the one for which she is said to have 


REMINISCENCES 195 


received a single check for the neat sum 
of $15,000. The book at once became 
a great “ seller.” VasJiti appeared in 
1869. 

Infelice followed it in 1875. It was 
somewhat of a new departure and that, 
and some other points, innate to it, 
made the story a “ go.” 

At the Mercy of Tiberius was issued 
hj G. W. Dillingham, Carleton’s suc- 
cessor, after an hiatus of twelve years. 
By the consensus of criticism and the 
‘‘ till ” alike, it is the author’s best book 
and will longest live. 

A SpecMed Bird came as the last of 
the series of regular novels ; it was pub- 
lished in 1902 by G. W. Dillingham 
Co. The first edition of 35,000 copies 
was sold in advance of publication. 
The next book and last from Mrs. Wil- 


196 


BIOGRAPHICAL 


son’s pen proved a new and very pleas- 
ing “ departure.” 

Devota appeared as a surprise to her 
nearest friends and even to her sisters 
in 1907. In failing health and sup- 
posed to have retired from the trials of 
authorship, those who loved the great 
woman best were prepared for — well, a 
retrogression. It did not come ; but in- 
stead, from cover to cover, a new idea 
and scheme of construction were pre- 
sented. The book showed that the 
writer, as one critic expressed it : “ had 
more things in her head than she 
seemed willing to let out of it.” 

Devota will have no book in sequence. 
The hand that penned it, the brain that 
directed it and the soul that inspired 
it are now at rest. 

Not one, even of her literary de- 


REMINISCENCES 197 


tractors, I think, will fail to wish when 
he hears of a new edition of this book, 
from the old house that has fostered so 
many of the children of her brain: 
“ After Life’s fitful fever, she sleeps 
well!” 




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